


Paroxysm

by wishesonfallenstars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Year (Once Upon a Time), Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, allusions to eating disorders, just a lot of pain and dealing with it poorly guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:29:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 61,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8465377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishesonfallenstars/pseuds/wishesonfallenstars
Summary: Her son is gone and she has a deranged half-sister on the warpath. Owen's little temper tantrum is a mere blip on the radar compared to that. If only her body would get the memo. Or, Regina has to deal with severe nerve and muscle damage after being electrocuted all while navigating grief over Henry, a green skinned sister, and a thief who can't seem to leave her be.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of reasons for writing this, first I never liked how little the show dealt with the after-effects of electrical torture, second I've been electrocuted myself and I still have nerve damage, third I seem to really like writing angst and the idea came to me after a season 2 re-watch.So here's what was meant to be a one shot based around how Regina deals with the aftermath of her torture during the missing year, on top of everything else that happens in 3B.  
> All the medical articles I read are cited on my tumblr - same name as here.

She doesn't consider it a problem. It's more of a nuisance, especially now. She has trekked across Neverland, dealt with Pan and his games, and managed to save her son all without anyone noticing that sometimes she couldn't quite make her hands (or any part of her body really) cooperate. They come less often now. Once a day. Maybe more if it's a bad day, but they're not every hour or so anymore. And they don't last as long, not all of them anyway.

She has better things to worry about now, more important than her body betraying her. Her son is gone and she has a deranged half-sister on the warpath. Owen's little temper tantrum is a mere blip on the radar compared to that.

If only her body would get the memo.

She'd had tremors for hours after they'd found her. Too tired and in too much pain to heal herself properly. Blue had removed the cuff, yes, but any healing had been left for Regina to do herself. Healing never was a strength of hers, but she did manage to fix her dislocated shoulder before anyone noticed. She'd googled why it happened in the brief moments between Neverland and stopping Pan's new curse. Her seizing muscles had ripped the joint from her socket. She hadn't even felt it at the time. Had only realised when she regained consciousness and it remained limp and agonising at her side. It still doesn't rotate all the way around, and that fucking winged beast hadn't helped matters any either.

The bruised and fractured ribs she'd mostly left alone. Reducing, instead, the contact burns on her fingertips, forearms and temples to barely there silver disks when her head _finally_ stopped spinning from relocating her arm. The business in the mines with Emma probably didn't help. In fact she _definitely_ re-broke the one rib she had managed to heal at that point.

Her time in Neverland taught her to know, most of the time at least, when a _seizure_ was coming (even in her own head it's spat with disdain; she really fucking hates knowing she's having some form of seizure). So… that's something to be thankful for. _Is thankful even the right word?_ The voice in the back of her head, the one that sounds like her mother, hisses that she's weak when one starts. That she should not be so affected by something that happened months ago. That she was the god damn Evil Queen. Owen was nothing. Less than nothing compared to her.

That she was broken.

Regina spends most of the nights back in her castle awake. She alternates between her chaise, staring into the fire, or sat against the railings of her balcony. Staring at nothing. She's on the balcony tonight and her hands are still shaking. Regina had barely got to her room before her leg gave out and her hands started to tremble enough to shake her entire arms.

It's been awhile since she had had one this bad. One where more than one muscle group rebelled against her. Not since Neverland. Before she went off on her own, luckily she'd been the one on watch. Everyone else asleep by the time she'd felt that first tingle. None of them had woken; she's always been good at keeping quiet. Regina had almost forgotten how it felt, losing complete control of herself. She's not entirely sure how she feels now that she remembers.

She's starting to be able to pick up triggers. Stress and exhaustion being the main ones. But considering the state of everything right now, Regina doesn't see either of those things easing off any time soon. Snow keeps giving her these looks as well. Like she's trying to figure out if something other than the obvious is wrong. They may be on relatively good terms nowadays but most of the time Regina thinks that she would rather give electrocution another go than let the Uncharmings know something might be wrong. Because nothing is wrong.

She knows enough about electrical injuries to have a vague idea of what has happened to her. From her own brief internet session before returning to this wretched land that never really felt like home (not since Daniel), or from vague memories of helping Henry with his science homework back when he still wanted it. The rest she works out with common sense.

Owen had placed two of the electrodes on her temples, even without the direct stimulation to her brain he'd kept her there for long enough that Regina would honestly be mildly surprised if she _had_ gone back to normal right away. But she never expected this; never expected it would be something her magic couldn't fix. He'd damaged something in her frontal or parietal lobe, hell it might be both of them. Another voice, a smaller, meeker one whispers that she's hit her head enough in her lifetime that that probably hasn't helped any either. Just how irreparable it is she has no idea. Though she is starting to realise that this is not really getting better, let alone going away anytime soon.

It's clarity that sits in her stomach like lead.

* * *

Snow is still giving her those looks. The ones that are trying to work out what is going on with her. Grief over Henry is only going to get her so much understanding before the questions would start. Regina isn't going to be able to avoid them for much longer. Charming has already come across her in one of her libraries, already seen her stumble when her knee gives out as she stands. She manages to pass it off as a dead leg from sitting for too long but that excuse can only be used so many times.

Stubbornness keeps her trying to heal something she, deep down, already knows cannot be healed with magic. The cynical part of her whispers that it probably can't even be healed with time. Even if she were still in Storybrooke with MRIs and modern medicine. Even if she had been taught healing magic Regina very much doubts she'd be able to do much with her damaged nervous system, and hell if that isn't something that sits in the back of her mind every time she struggles to pick up her goddamn knife and fork.

After the third time her fingers twitch and nearly send her cutlery clattering to her plate in the banquet hall, with the possibility of _everyone's_ eyes on her, Regina starts to take her meals, those she eats at least, exclusively in her private rooms. It's another thing that has Snow raising her eyebrows at her husband when she thinks Regina can't see, but it is still better than something happening in front of the whole fucking town, and the… _strays_ they've picked up since landing back in the Enchanted Forest. She'll take the tutting and pointed looks at her waistline over that every time. She's never had much of an appetite anyway, and it's always the first thing to go whenever her stress levels spike. She's lost more weight in the last few years than she cares to think about. Snow can glare all she wants, but with everything that's going on hunger isn't something she feels anymore.

She can handle the glares from Snow, they're still finding their feet with working together, with not being constantly at war; Snow won't berate her about this. Not out loud. Not yet. But _he_ doesn't have that ever so fragile and new alliance to worry about. Nor the pages and pages of bloody history. A thief with a misplaced sense of honour. And he's already proven he has no issue going toe-to-toe with her over… well over anything really. And he is always smirking at her after, daring her to do something. Just what that is she has yet to figure out, but it makes her stomach flip when she sees it. _Pathetic,_ that vicious voice that never stops sounding like Cora whispers.

"Regina?"

Her eyes snap towards where David has clearly been trying to get her attention. All eyes of the council table are on her, she gathers that they've been calling her name for a while now.

Snow jumps in before she is forced to ask what she had missed. "We are going around in circles."

"Snow -"

"We are, Charming. We have only got the vaguest idea of what she is after, any scouting parties we have sent out either come back significantly smaller, or empty handed. She is constantly five steps ahead of us, and we are no closer to figuring her out than we were when we first got back."

Charming turns back to face Regina, "There's been no luck with finding out what she's after?"

Shaking her head, she shoves her twitching left hand under her thigh, and stares across the table at the Prince. "Like I said in the last sham of a war council, she doesn't care if I can find out where she's been because she's clearly not worried about me figuring out _why_ she's even going to those parts of the Forest. If her reasons make sense, they only do to her right now." Her hand gives a sharper, harder twitch, her elbow jerking. "And dragging me into these pointless little meetings when I could be working on finding that out, isn't going to speed the process along." It goes back to minutely shaking, enough that she figures she's safe enough to make her exit.

Standing up she levels the table with a glare, "Now, I'm assuming that there isn't really anything of any actual importance to discuss, so if you don't mind I think I am going to go back to trying to work out why that Witch is here."

* * *

"You know, you might want to consider brushing up on those acting skills of yours, milady."

"Excuse me?"

Hood raises his eyebrows at her glare. "Well, if you're going to keep telling everyone who asks that you're fine, you might want to practise those smiles of yours a bit more," he says. Then he gestures to where her hands are gripping at the edge of the table she'd been piling books upon, "There's also that."

Regina's eyes snap down to the white knuckled grip she has on the table, one she'd grabbed onto before knowing he was in the library when she felt her knee almost give out. She'd slammed her hands down to keep herself from the stone floor; the chairs being too far away to sit down. "I'm just a little woozy; I forgot to each lunch."

"I might be a thief, Your Majesty, but even I know skipping meals when they're readily available isn't the best idea."

Rolling her eyes she raises her head to see him staring at her, "What are you, my keeper? It was a dizzy spell, and it's already passed."

"Is that so?"

God, she'd love to smack that smug little smirk off of his face. Narrowing her eyes at him, she squares her shoulders and opens her mouth to argue back.

"Then let go of the table."

"What?"

He moves closer until he's scant few inches away, pointedly looks down at where one of his hands is reaching out to cover one of hers. "Let go of the table, Regina."

Gritting her teeth she glares down at her knuckles, willing them to unclench. But then her knee gives another, stronger, wobble and she knows she can't. She lets go and she will more than likely end up on the floor. She doesn't and he gets confirmation of whatever it is he suspects. And right now she cannot tell which one would be worse. There's another spasm just above her knee this time and she knows that if they're getting closer together, that holding onto the table isn't going to help her for much longer. And that damn outlaw is not leaving anytime soon. Regina can feel her eyes stinging with humiliated, frustrated tears that, luckily, don't fall.

"You are shaking, milady," When she doesn't answer his grip tightens on her hand, "Ok… will you let me help you?" The only reaction she has is to clench her jaw. "No one else is in here, and the door is shut so no one else will come in here, _no one_ will find out. Will you let me help you?"

She goes to tell him she doesn't need help, least of all from him but her leg chooses that moment to buckle again and she's jolting forwards over the table, throwing more of her body weight onto her already straining wrists in an attempt to balance herself. There's an exasperated huff before the arm not covering her hand wraps around her waist, tightening until he has a solid hold of her.

"You can let go now," She shakes her head, because no she really can't, "I've got you." She still doesn't move, ignores the urge to lean into him, to let him help and glares at her hands with her teeth grinding together. "Gods above you're a stubborn one."

Regina bites back another retort and focuses on getting her body back under control long enough to prove that she doesn't need this damn thief's fucking help but her wrists finally buckle and Hood is suddenly the only thing keeping her upright. It also means he's made aware that saying she's shaking is putting it mildly. Angry tears flood her eyes again as Hood shifts to secure his hold on her. "Right… see that couch, over there?" He jerks his chin to one of the overstuffed, musty smelling couches under a window behind them, "All you have to do, is get to that couch."

It is barely six feet away, but that six feet is starting to look like crossing the Amazon. Steeling herself she moves to grip onto the arms Hood has wrapped around her waist, grits her teeth and nods. She manages to hobble a few inches, using him as a human crutch before her leg completely craps out, she growls out a curse as Hood somehow manages to swing her completely into his arms and deposit her onto the couch in a few moves. Crouching down he grips her hands between his. "What can I do?"

"Y-you've do-done plenty," She means it come out much more scathing than it does. By the half smile on his face and concern still obvious in his eyes she doesn't even come close to it.

"How do you stop it?"

She very nearly laughs, because that's the million dollar question isn't it? But if she laughs Regina's pretty sure those tears blurring her vision will finally fall, and he has already seen her weak enough for one lifetime. "Just… just ha-have to wai-ait it out." Her left bicep has joined the party since he placed her oh-so-delicately on the couch, her brain feels like it's rattling around in her skull and she has to fight to get each word out.

"They're not normally this… violent," he rolls his eyes at her confused look, "I've hardly survived this long by not noticing what's going on around me. Like I said; you need to work on your acting."

Despite herself she feels the corner of her lips pull up briefly. Her muscles have started to calm down and based on the grip Hood has on her hand loosening, he's also realised. He stays silent until she uncurls, legs moving from the couch cushions to settle on the stone floor, she's shaking less noticeably now. The thief moves from his crouch to sit next to her, careful to keep a safe distance between them, briefly she wonders if his knees ache at all but she isn't really aware of just how long this one has lasted so far. "No one else has noticed, if that's what you're worried about."

She refuses to look at him, eyes glued to her knees, studying the navy velvet covering them, "It's not, but I sup-ose that's one thing a-about this mess that I ca-can be glad about."

He doesn't answer, but she sees him stand up and move towards the door. For a moment she thinks he might be leaving and she ignores the way her stomach drops, but all he does is move to a table by the door. He's back before she can really think about what that stomach lurch was about, sitting back down and offering a water skin.

She accepts the drink, takes a rather messy gulp with her hands still shivering but she doesn't spill it all down her front, so she takes it as a win. "H-how did you really know? About…" she sighs and makes a vague gesture with her hand.

"About your… condition?"

Regina furrows her brows because that makes it sound like she has some sort of disease. Makes it sound permanent. _It probably is._ "Yes. I've been uh, I've been very carefu-ul."

"My boy," he says, elaborating when she quirks an eyebrow at him, "Roland saw you fall a few weeks ago. It was after you said he could be your friend, he came running to find me rambling about you not getting back up once he'd left, you'd gone by the time we'd returned to your garden but he was insistent," he shrugs, "so I started paying a bit more attention."

"R-Roland saw?"

"Aye, it scared him."

She drops her head into her still slightly shaking hands, speaks softly to her knees instead of him, "I didn't mean to scare him."

A quiet laugh makes her look up at him, frowning when he smiles at her like she has completely missed the point. "Roland wasn't scared of you, milady; he was scared _for_ you. That boy of mine is quite taken with you," his smile brightens a little at the thought of his toddler, "and I'm starting to see why."

* * *

After that day he's everywhere. Sometimes it's just him, but sometimes Roland's there with him too, smiling up at her and asking if she wants to play, or go for a walk, or on an adventure of some kind. It makes her heart ache for another little boy with a thousand-watt smile begging her to play Pepper Potts to his Iron Man. But she can't turn him down, not when he is so earnest in his requests, can't bring herself to be the one who makes that smile of his dim. Even when she does have somewhere she needs to be, some council meeting or other obligation of being Queen to this destitute land she always promises that she'll find him as soon she's finished. Even teaches him what a pinkie-swear is, tells him it's the most powerful promise anyone can make, that breaking it is impossible in any realm. His whole face lights up at that and he spends the rest of that day telling anyone who listens that his best friend is the Queen.

"I'm allowed to call her Regina, Uncle John! And, and, and tomorrow she's gonna spend _all day_ with me! She _pinkie-swore_." Little John bites back a laugh at that, words all slurred together from age and his level of excitement. He gasps with the appropriate amount of awe that Roland is clearly expecting as he carries the hyperactive little boy off to lunch. He may not like her much but he never voices it in front of Roland, in fact he's even been limiting the amount of comments he seems to make whenever Hood is there too.

His father sends Regina a grin as he leaves the duo in the doorway to the Council chamber. And when he mutters "You just made my boy's week, milady," as he slips past her to his seat she absolutely does not shiver. She does, however, narrow her eyes at him when Snow walks in, baby bump now starting to show, and see them sitting there alone without arguing. They may be getting along better now, more bickering than full on arguments, but the last thing she needs right now is for Snow White to add to her near constant headache with little comments about him being 'cute'.

The meeting seems to drag on forever, now that they know Rumple's alive and under Zelena's control and she's after the Charming's offspring for some yet undisclosed reason, everything is about how to stop her. Or how to get Rumplestiltskin back in his own mind. Or how to protect the baby when they don't even know what she wants it for, just that she _does_. It would be different if any of them had any idea on how to do any of that. But they're still playing catch up and it's giving her a migraine, and she can't feel any tremors just yet but she honestly wouldn't be the slightest bit shocked if they start up.

The thief grabs her elbow as she leaves the room, Charming and Snow with a distraught Belle the only ones left, pulls her around the corner to an empty section of hallway.

"The Hell do -" a sandwich is pressed into her hands, cutting her off. Robin then tugs an apple out of his pocket. "Wh-what is this?"

"You didn't eat breakfast, nor were you anywhere to be seen at lunch."

"I eat in my room."

"Aye, and did you actually eat anything of any substance today?" He's got that fucking look in his eyes again, one that's starting to become all too familiar; the look that says he'll know if she lies to him. And he throws her off balance so much that he probably would.

So she diverts the conversation instead. "Where the hell did you get this? Where were you even hiding it?"

"I'm a thief, Regina, as you are so keen to keep pointing out. Do you really need to ask that question? Besides," he smirks at her, the same one that his son uses on people to try and get out of trouble, "I didn't steal it, I stopped by the kitchens on my way here and asked Granny to make it. The apple is from Roland; he says you like the ones from your tree best."

Regina glares at him but she's learning that she might have finally met someone who can out stubborn her. Normally she'd start a fight, but she just doesn't have the energy today. Her glare doesn't lessen but she does take a bite out of the sandwich. Turkey with cranberry sauce, the closest Granny has been able get to Regina's favourite seasonal Panini from the Diner.

"You look tired."

Rolling her eyes Regina swallows, "I didn't sleep very well last night, if you must know."

"Do you ever?"

"And what is that meant to mean, Hood?"

Robin is still wearing a smile, but it's smaller, more understanding and for some reason it doesn't make her skin itch the way it does when Charming or Snow or even Granny give her a similar one. "Just that you've been looking tired a lot lately. More so than usual," He shrugs, presses the apple into her now sandwich free hands, "And I hear you're going on an adventure with my boy tomorrow. He's an energetic one; you'll need your strength if you're to help him in whatever quest it is this time."

Despite herself she feels her lips quirk in a ghost of a smile back at him, "He said we're going troll hunting."

Robin nods sagely, "Ah yes, sneaky little devils those trolls," She laughs, a small, short thing and she misses the way his eyes brighten when it slips out because she ducks her head immediately. But the smile stays on her face; she still remembers letting a three-year-old Henry drag her around their garden with butterfly nets, determined to spot Nymphs, or Fairies, or some other woodland sprite. Can still remember how vivid his imagination was every time he'd pretend to have caught one of the trolls that were supposedly terrorising them. Her smile takes on a bittersweet tinge.

He must notice it, must notice how it morphs into a frown but he doesn't bring it up, instead he grins and says, "Well, I'm leading a short scouting mission tomorrow, so if he gets to be too much just force Tuck to take him."

"Scouting mission?"

"Well, more of a supply run with a scouting mission built in, if we're being honest. We need to build up our wood supply while the snows have died down, meat stores could also do with it if we spot anything."

"Oh," she nods, logically knowing somewhere in the back of her mind that some of their people would be venturing out on one sooner or later, before the snow became too deep again. "How long for?" When she hears how that sounds she hastens to add, "You know, for if Roland asks. I wouldn't want to lie to him," The last part is hushed, because she wouldn't, she can't lie to a child she's coming to care for. Not after how she lied to Henry.

"It depends, it's only meant to be two days. But we may have to venture further out if we don't come across any game," Robin shifts, moves to lean against a tapestry covered wall while one hand rubs at the back of his neck. "It could easily become more, but we've been told to be back on the fifth day unless it can't be helped."

Regina's frown deepens at that, "What if something happens? What do I, what do _we_ tell Roland?"

And it is obvious Robin didn't miss that little slip either, but he just smiles at her. "Well, I've been on longer jobs before, he knows that sometimes I have to go for a few days at a time. He doesn't always _like_ it, but he does understand as well as he can at his age. I've told him and Tuck that he's welcome to spend as much time with you as he wants, providing he's not bothering you or getting in the way. If he gets too much, or you have something you need to be doing more than chasing garden trolls… don't feel like you can't pass him back to his uncle. But as far as he and I are concerned he'll enjoy his time more if he spends it with you."

She doesn't quite know what to say to that. She's spent plenty of time with just Roland over the last several weeks, even more so since Robin helped her in the library, but that's always been while he knows where they are and what they'll be doing, and that she'll have him back to his father before supper time. This is different. He's giving her permission to be Roland's main babysitter while he's away. Part of her thinks this should make her feel uncomfortable, make that squirmy, acidic, churning in her stomach start to act up. The same way it does whenever she's trusted with such a large responsibility as if it is nothing. But it doesn't. Robin's never made her feel like she's anything but trustworthy since they met; the hours he lets her spend with the most important person in his life without so much as batting an eyelid proves that.

God, she'd barely trusted anyone to watch Henry for a few measly hours, let alone what could potentially be just under week. She's gobsmacked, and bastard that he is, he _knows_ exactly what he's done. Determined not to let him see just how deeply she's touched by it, Regina forces a smirk onto her face, "And how happy is the dear Friar about all this? Surely spending so much unchecked time with the Evil Queen would lead your boy astray."

Robin laughs, no hint of anything other than delight in his eyes and she doesn't understand him at all. Doesn't understand this man who should, by anyone's standards, want her as far away from his child as possible. For the life of her, Regina cannot comprehend just why, or even how really, Robin trusts her around Roland and has done from the beginning.

"Milady, I believe that if anyone will be leading someone astray it'll be Roland; I've yet to see you successfully say no to him. In fact I'd wager he has you telling him multiple bedtime stories by the second night," He says with laughter still clinging to his voice.

She'd argue but he's right. He's right and she hates that he knows he is; no one can say no to that little boy's dimples and puppy dog eyes. Least of all her. "And what happens if I don't get bored of hunting garden trolls, or I decide to skirt my council responsibilities?"

"Ah, well in the event of that Your Majesty," he leans in slightly, smile smaller but still clear as day, "I would say you're going to have a very happy four year old on your hands."

She doesn't realise how close they've been standing until she drops her head, a small, shy smile forming at the thought of Roland adamantly going around telling anyone who will listen that she's his friend and feels the collar of his shirt brush against her forehead. Startled, she jerks up at that and steps back into the wall behind her, the cold stone helping to cool the flush she can feel rising in her cheeks. Robin seems to notice if the sheepish look he gives her is anything to go by. And when he takes a step back Regina can't quite tell if she's grateful or if she wishes he'd follow.

Because they were flirting. She's been out of the game for a while, doesn't know if she ever really got into it in the first place, if her and Graham ever even flirted under the curse, but she's pretty fucking sure they were flirting.

"Right, well I should be off, I've got to get things ready for tomorrow morning. I'll leave you to it," he says, pointedly looking down at the apple she's taken one bite out of, "and I'll drop Roland off to your rooms after breakfast."

* * *

Somehow she lets Roland talk her into coming down with him to say goodbye properly. She doesn't even really attempt to change his mind, it only takes one look at his huge brown eyes as he solemnly informs her that he said goodbye to his papa before being dropped here by his Uncle Tuck but he needs to see him again. Then he pulls out a strip of woven fabric with little wooden beads dotted throughout. It looks so much like the friendship bracelets Henry would make for her at preschool that he's barely finished insisting "He _really_ needs it, Regina, 'cause it's lucky! An' it'll make sure he comes home to us," that she finds herself nodding, scooping him up and transporting them to the castle gates before she's got him settled on her hip properly.

Robin is standing next to one of the few horses they have, squatting as he roots around in one of the packs on the ground. And she definitely _does not_ let her gaze linger as he bends forwards briefly. Especially considering she's got his son in her arms. His son who yells for his father's attention before she can tear her eyes away if the knowing smirk he gives her is anything to go by.

"Hello, I thought we'd said our goodbyes?" He reaches for Roland, grins at Regina as he situates the boy into his hip.

"We did! But I forgots to give you this," the woven bracelet is thrust up into the air between father and son. "It's lucky, papa, so you gotsta wear it _the whole time_ ," the look on his little face is so serious that Robin quickly drops his smile, nodding and narrowing his eyes as Roland places his hands on either cheek, forcing his father to look into his eyes. Henry used to do the same thing when he was little, particularly when he was double checking that she definitely sent Santa his letter. Regina figures it must a thing that all children do, and for once, though it does still send a sharp stab through her heart, it doesn't hurt more than it endears her.

"Well if it _is_ lucky I'd best put it on now, hadn't I my boy?" Roland nods, curls bouncing wildly as he turns to wave Regina forward.

"Regina, you put it on 'im, you' better at it than me," he says, grin so infectious she doesn't even try to think of a reason not to as Robin extends the wrist not holding him. She scrunches her nose at Roland as she ties the bracelet around, assuring them both that she's tied it extra tight so it won't come loose. "'Member to keep it on for always, okay papa?"

Robin nods like it's the most serious promise he's ever made, "I swear, it won't come off until _you_ tell me it can," Roland holds a pinkie up and his grin widens when Robin links it with his own. "See, now I can't break my promise." Roland lands a smacking, damp kiss on Robin's cheek before fidgeting until he's put down and able to race towards Little John, screeching happily when he's swung high into the air.

"You know," Robin starts, nudging her shoulder with his, "we aren't leaving for another half an hour… you could have walked down here in plenty of time."

Narrowing her eyes at him, Regina purses her lips, "He was very insistent that we get it to you as soon as possible, didn't seem like a big deal to use magic. Plus," she folds her arms across her chest and jerks her chin towards where Roland is now 'helping' John inspect their weapons, "he gets a little more time with you all this way."

She doesn't mean to, but she can't help the haze of grief that settles over her. Because she'd give anything, in this realm and all the others, to have had just a little bit longer with Henry. And god, Robin seems to get it, seems to get that part of her attachment to Roland is how he reminds her of him, of her little prince and for some reason she cannot fathom he doesn't begrudge her time with him. His smile drops slightly, a sad one she's used to getting nowadays whenever anything even remotely hints at the fact that she's a mom.

 _Was_ a mom. _Is she still a mom?_ He might not remember it, but Henry is still hers. On anyone else it infuriates her, it used to from Robin too until she noticed his eyes had a lack of pity in them. Empathy yes, but never pity. Not like everyone else in this fucking world.

"Well," Robin thankfully turns away to face his son again as he speaks, "I'm glad you used magic then."

"I thought you hated magic," she says.

Robin clears his throat, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, "Ah, it's not so much that I hate it… I mistrust it."

"But -"

"Regina, I might dislike it on most days and maybe one day I'll tell you why," he teases her, that smile that never truly leaves his face still there and aimed at _her_ , "but I _trust_ you, and I trust _your_ magic. And more importantly, milady," he's lowered his voice now as he steps closer to her so that he's barely an inch away and _fuck_ , it makes her head spin, "I trust your judgement. _Especially_ when it comes to that boy." He's so close to her that she can almost feel his lips moving against her skin and it throws her off balance enough that when he brushes against her cheek with a soft, barely there kiss before moving away to say one last goodbye to his son he renders her completely speechless.

And damn if her heart doesn't skip.

* * *

Roland does manage to get three bedtime stories before she convinces him to go to sleep. Has to swear up and down that yes, he can come and wake her the next morning for breakfast if she's not already up, and that no, she won't mind before he even considers lying down under his blankets.

"'M not sleepy," Roland says mid yawn as she coaxes him further into his pillows.

Regina bites back a smile, and continues to tuck him now that she's not sat against the headboard with him cuddled into her side. She didn't realise how much she'd missed this, missed the adamant declarations of not need to go to sleep while tired eyes slip closed until she's murmuring "I know you're not," and stroking her fingers through his curls.

Bedtimes with Henry started to get cut short after he turned seven and declared it 'uncool' to need his mom to read him a story. They became a bit tense when he found out just before he turned nine that he was adopted and for the first time her little prince was going through something she couldn't fix, something she didn't know how to make better. They all but disappeared when he got the book and all of the sudden she wasn't 'mom' anymore but evil, someone - hell, _something_ to be hated, to escape from.

She blinks away the memories of one of the worst sections of her long life in favour of focussing on the little boy in front of her; she can break down behind closed doors, but she can't let Roland see her like that. He's still fighting sleep, pushing back at the tempting comfort of his bed so she utilises a trick she'd picked up during Henry's bout of colic, one that worked without fail at any age. Shifting so she is once again sat against the headboard, this time curved slightly to lean over him, she alternates between scratching her nails softly against his scalp and running her index finger, feather light above his brows, smoothing down the small frown Roland has from fighting drifting off.

He falls asleep pretty quickly after that but she doesn't move straight away. Keeps running her fingers through his curls long after his grip on her slackens, and even then she doesn't move until she starts to feel her body cramping up from being sat there for so long. Muscle memory from avoiding waking a different little boy kicks in as she eases herself off of the bed, double checks his monkey is safely under the blankets with him and that said blankets are tucked firmly around the both of them before she slips out of the bedroom.

Tuck is sitting on one of the overstuffed sofas by the fireplace, one of the younger members of Robin's Merry Men sat with him as the Friar appears to be teaching him to read. It doesn't quite startle her, but she hadn't heard them return so it makes her pause awkwardly for a moment, briefly cursing the fact that to save space, the Merry Men had claimed a suit. The bedroom going to Roland and Robin with the rest of them happily camping out in the large sitting area. Arthur gives a little wave when he spots her as Tuck merely nods at her, offers a small smile before tapping the pages open on Arthur's knees. He rolls his eyes at her before returning to whatever passage it is Tuck's currently using for his lesson.

Regina doesn't say anything as she leaves, but the quiet acceptance from at least two more of Robin's men leaves her feeling lighter somehow. It's disconcerting in a way. She spends the short walk to her own suit agonising over it so much that she's not aware of the tingling that's no longer pins and needles until her right arm fails to cooperate with shutting her door. She glares at the heavy wood, resorts to slamming it shut with magic before moving to her the bedchambers off of the main room. Regina yanks her hair down awkwardly with one semi-functional hand, counting her blessings that she'd worn a comfortable dress for her day with Roland because she can feel her wrist start to twitch and knows she'd never be able to get changed so she just lays herself down and hopes it'll be over quickly.

She's never really been that lucky.

* * *

Regina wakes up the next morning more tired than when she passed out after the seizure. She'd woken up constantly, never really sleeping in more than fits and bursts. Either jerking herself awake mid-nightmare, or waking up clammy and confused as to why. She barely had the energy to change into sleepwear and move under a mound of blankets the first time it happened, more drained than she realised. It also seems that Roland had indeed woken before her, if the small weight she can feel against her knees is anything to go by. Shifting around Regina peeks over the covers to see him whispering softly to the stuffed monkey she'd given him, back against her legs so he doesn't see her watching.

Biting her lip she watches for a little longer, before moving to sit up and catching his attention.

"Hi! Monkey and me was gonna wake you but he said you looked _really_ sleepy, so we jus' played instead," Roland says, nodding down to where his monkey is held firmly on his lap.

"Well thank you, Roland. And thank you too, Monkey," she remembers how important it was to Henry when she acknowledged his toys, "you were right, I _was_ very sleepy." Roland grins at her, clearly pleased he made the right choice, though she would have happily woken at the crack of dawn if he'd asked. Stretching her left arm out, slow and careful as she thinks of last night Regina glances outside to try and gage the weather. But it's still early and the sun is barely over the horizon; the grey tint to the sky may well fade.

"Well," she says, turning back to where Roland is now wriggling his way up the bed to plant himself on the empty side of her bed, tucked firmly against her and showing his feet - minus his shoes thankfully - under the covers. "What do you want today?"

He frowns, "Is today when papa comes home?"

"Hopefully," she really doesn't want to say yes on the off chance Robin is delayed another day and risk disappointing the boy but she's desperately hoping he's back by dinner. The frown becomes more pronounced on his little face and she swears her heart clenches the exact same way it used to when she'd inevitably let Henry down over something or other. Regina squeezes him to her for a moment as she wracks her brain, desperate to think of a way to cheer him up. "Hey, how about we make papa a present for when he does get back?"

"Like what?"

And isn't that just a brilliant question, one she hadn't quite worked out. "Well," she flounders, "what do you think he'd like?"

Roland pulls a face, confers with his monkey and rubs the back of his neck. Identical in manner to his father, he clearly looks like his mother, but mannerisms are all that of Robin Hood. "I dunno!" He doesn't sound disheartened to her relief, just a little stumped and trying to think of the perfect welcome home present.

"He really liked the bracelet you made him," she prompts.

"He likes it when I make him things," he giggles and tilts his head to grin up at her, "papa says I make stuff the best."

"He is absolutely right," Regina bops him on the nose, feeling a grin take residence on her own face when it makes him scrunch his face a tad. Her gut tightens when she thinks of the boxes she has kept safe in her attic and under her bed, filled to bursting with things Henry had made her. School projects and home made ones alike. And it hurts, it always will when she thinks of her darling little prince, to remember that neither they nor her town exist anymore but it does start to form an idea.

"Right, are you ready for the day already, Roland?" He nods, adds a _Monkey is too,_ as she climbs out of the bed and spots his boots, haphazardly strewn by her rug with a small cape and some mittens. "Ok, I'm going to get dressed really quickly, then we're going to go work on papa's surprise."

"How quick?"

There's a little quirk in his smile that lets her in on what he wants, so she rolls her eyes in jest, waves a hand and feels her skin clean itself, makeup apply perfectly though not as dark as she normally would in this realm, and clothing swap. Roland is gleefully clapping his hands and laughing by the time the smoke clears to show her in leather pants, a lavish but loose fitting silk tunic, the collar encrusted with gemstone detailing, hair in a relatively simple braided bun and her knee high flat riding boots. The pants may be stupidly tight but it is one of her more comfortable outfits here and she'd learnt fairly early on with her own son that comfort and ease were key in running around after a toddler all day.

"Was that quick enough for you, my good Sir?" When Roland pretends to think about it, Regina snatches him up around the waist to curl him up into the air, delighting in the happy shrieks coming from his small frame, before setting herself down with Roland across her lap to tickle him.

"Yes, YES, it was… you was quick enough, I swears!" There are tears in his eyes, red splotches on his cheeks and across his face is smile that Regina is positive would blind the stars.

"Alright then, shall we go and get some breakfast so we can work on your present for papa?"

* * *

Breakfast is eaten from a shared plate with Roland firmly in her lap as he shyly answers Snow's questions, causing Regina to melt just a little because Robin commented once that Roland nearly always took his time warming up to other people. (Women in particular simply because he'd only ever really spent a significant amount of time with Mulan before they moved into the castle.) But he never hesitated with approaching Regina. Even in her 'scary clothes' that she'd started to tone down on days where she knew she'd be seeing the littlest of the Merry Men. His father had been quick to assure her he didn't mind in the slightest, was happy with the any bond that gave his son cause to smile and become much more talkative around people other than his father and favourite uncles.

She picks at her part of the plate, the smaller half that houses mostly fruit versus Roland's sausages, eggs, and toast. Granny tuts at her as she moves past them to place a bread basket on the buffet style table they're sitting in front of. Glares pointedly at the crusted shells of the rolls but all Regina can hear, has heard since she pretty much started eating solid food, is mother sighing in that 'what did I do to deserve a daughter as awful as you, Regina?' way of hers. Can hear the snide little comments she had started hearing at far too young an age. _For goodness' sake, Regina! Don't even think about having another sweet,_ or _you can't possibly want desert, can you dear? Not after eating all that surely,_ or _and now what will you wear? This dress fit you last month, I shudder to think of what you have putting your waistline through, young lady._

There's part of her that knows it's wrong, that knows the passive aggressive, and sometimes just outright aggressive comments from Cora were never true; she's always been of a slight build, but by Storybrooke's medical standards she'd more than likely be classed as underweight, probably has been for the last good few years at that. But growing up here had drilled into her head that all she had was her appearance, first with Cora and then with the King, because she'd grown up with him and his side glances at her plate too. When he cared to look… outside of her wifely duties that is.

It wouldn't do to have a Queen not worthy of being shown off.

So she doesn't take a roll for herself, she does grab a soft, honey glazed one when she spots Roland staring at it. Cuts it in half, slathers it with butter and marmalade all while telling herself it definitely does not smell amazing, and that fruit is better for her waistline than carbs. She tries not to hate herself for believing it.

She arranges for Tuck to take Roland at lunch and for a few hours after so she can put in some time researching before taking Roland's hand and leading him back towards her room, making a couple of short pit stops along the way. The weather has decided to remain chilly and the world outside has a muted grey haze, and Regina knows they'll both be more comfortable in a room with furnishings to sit on and a hearth to keep warm by. Tuck offers up their suite but she refuses, gives the excuse that it is currently serving as shared living accommodation for thirteen men, and while only four of them including Roland remain she wouldn't want to take over their space in case they want some time alone. Really it's that she is quite ready to be seen the way she is with Roland by everyone. Especially if Robin isn't there. And _that_ is something she resolutely does not think about.

Once they get back to her rooms, she tells Roland to wait for a moment while she pushes back some of the furniture around her low coffee table to make room for them on the rug. Even goes as far to throw all available cushions on top of it for them to sit on before she uses magic to clear the trinkets on the mahogany away. Regina waves Roland over before she goes about setting out some of the paint she'd managed to find in a dusty, stale old store room and the loose sheets of parchment found in another. She uses magic to get a couple of jars of water, a handful of paintbrushes, and after noticing that the paints are a bit lacklustre decides to create a larger selection too.

Roland drops down onto one of the larger pillows, Monkey placed safely next to him, and starts to twitch with excitement of the unknown. "I need you to pick out three colours for me, alright?" He points to green, pink and dark purple. Grabbing a sheet of parchment, Regina dollops a few drops of each colour, layering them in the middle before folding the paper in half, pressing down firmly and rubbing her hand over the page.

When she peels it open and starts to add black details to the symmetrical smush of colour, Roland gasps in delight. "I's a butterfly!" After that they set to work, Roland doing most of it but demanding her help with turning his splodges into all manner of insects to be cut out later and stuck to a longer piece of parchment where she helps him write _welcome home, papa_ before dropping him at lunch with Tuck and disappearing before Granny or Snow can berate her about food.

* * *

The men aren't back after supper. Both Tuck and Regina agree to let Roland stay awake on the off chance they'll show up but the boy barely makes it an extra half an hour before she carries him to bed. He wakes up as she tucks him in, indignant at being moved and pouting over Robin not being there. It takes longer than the night before to ease him back into sleep, she has to remind him several times that Robin said it might be longer than overnight, but that he'd told them he would be back by the fifth day. She has Roland count out three more days to work out when he said he would back, and mentally threatens anyone and everyone if she is made out to be a liar about this.

Eventually Regina coaxes him back into slumber by promising that Tuck is right outside his room and will be all night, and when Roland asks about where she'll be, she pinkie-swears that she'll be in her rooms all night long so he knows exactly where to find her if he needs her.

"Maybe -" a yawn crack his jaw nearly, it's so powerful, "maybe papa will be here in the morning."

"Maybe."

He isn't.

Nor is he there that night, or the fourth and by the time dinner of the fifth day arrives with no sign of them her entire being is a constant mess of fear, nerves and acidic bubbling that turns her stomach to even think of food. Roland has been sleeping in her room since half way through the third night. He'd come barrelling into her rooms in the middle of the night, jerking her out of her already fitful sleep, tears damp on his little face as he stuttered out that he wanted to sleep in her bed while his papa was gone.

Muscle memory from Henry's childhood nightmares kicked in the second she woke enough to recognise Roland standing at her bedside, his monkey trailing upside down slightly behind him while he rubbed a fist over his bloodshot eyes. A bit of magic ensures that Tuck will find a note saying where Roland is when he wakes before she's reaching for him, picking him up under his armpits and bundling him under the covers with her, hugging him fiercely once he's finished making himself comfortable: all but buried into her chest. She murmurs softly to him, cradling his head with one hand and rubbing his back to try and gentle the sobs wracking his tiny body.

"You're ok, Roland, it'll be ok," she presses a kiss to his hair and shushes him, rocks back and forth with words still flowing as he starts to calm, "I've got you, honey, I won't let go."

* * *

The morning of the seventh day has Regina waking to the now familiar weight of Roland curled into her and the feeling that they're being watched. It doesn't register right away - she's exhausted, it's been years since she spent so much time keeping a four year old occupied. And she'd never done it while said four year old was missing his father, nor while having at least one muscle spasm or seizure a day.

The stress of not knowing what has happened to Robin is getting to her too, yesterday alone she had felt the muscles in her right leg and right shoulder constantly twitching (they haven't been getting worse, not really, but they have become more frequent). Up until dinner time where she managed to get herself alone while Roland ate with Tuck, Arthur and the other two Merry Men left behind and she collapsed on the icy, hard flagstone of her bathroom as her whole body gave out, seizing so hard she had a moment of genuine fear that she would crack her skull open on the floor. Roland had wandered in shortly after, and though she played it off as a headache the fact that she got them both ready for bed instead of climbing in later once he was long asleep, and had struggled to keep herself present for the story didn't do much to convince him.

Blinking her eyes open she guesses it must be a while to sunrise from the little of the sky she can see reflected in a glass pane on the mantle, wonders idly what would be watching her sleep. She almost drifts back off before she comes to a bit more and stiffens.

"It's me," he barely even whispers, anything else too loud, too jarring in the silence of the world at this hour.

Regina inclines her head slightly and spots him, looking a little worse for wear and dead on his feet, but still in one piece. "Robin… wha - where?" Her voice is rough from sleep and trying not to wake the child sprawled across her.

Robin hushes her, "I'll tell you at a more decent hour, I just had to see you both."

She blinks again, not convinced he's truly there with how she can feel sleep still clinging, determined, to the edges of her mind, "Time's it?"

He scrubs a hand over his face and she notes, for some reason, that he hasn't trimmed his beard in the last few days. "Um, a few hours after midnight I believe," he's still whispering. Though now she can tell it's not just fear of waking Roland (the boy can sleep through almost anything), it is his own brand of exhausted. Later she'll blame the state of her mental and physical health but she moves back ever so slightly, expertly shushes Roland when he whimpers and stirs, but she gets them firmly back from the middle of the bed to her side and gestures with her head for Robin to get in.

"Oh, no Regina, I couldn't…"

"Get in the damn bed, Hood," she's too fucking worn out for chivalry tonight, "we've prob'ly both ha' jus' as bad a week, so get in the bed, get some sleep, cuddle your son and I'll yell at you in the mo'ning." Her eyes are already shut again by the time she finishes slurring her promise to scold him in the morning. Well, later morning… at a more humane hour.

She hears a whisper of fabric being shifted about, soft thuds of boots dropping to the floor and blinks herself awake long enough to see him climbing in on Roland's other side in a threadbare white shirt that covers him decently, soft looking pants and a bemused smile on his face.

"Goodnight Regina," he squeezes one of the hands she has wrapped around Roland and presses a kiss to the part of his son's forehead that's visible with how he's ended up.

"G'night."

* * *

She wakes to hushed giggles and whispering and for a moment she's confused. She's sure Henry didn't have a nightmare last night and managed to sleep through in his new 'big boy bed'. It take a few seconds before clarity sets in and she remembers that Henry hasn't woke up to sleep in her bed in years, and that there's no hope of that happening again now. But Regina is still more asleep than awake so that knowledge hits a little softer than usual, and as such confusion still dances around the edges of last night.

It is Roland's soft " _Papa,_ we can't wake up Regina," when they both freeze as she whimpers and burrows further into her pillow that brings everything back into focus.

There's quiet for a few seconds, both of them clearly waiting to see if she's asleep still instead of just stubbornly ignoring the day, before Robin speaks, "It's alright, son, we'll let her sleep as long as she wants."

There's a muffled hum from Roland and she hears a whisper of cotton against silk, before a sharp movement from the small source of warmth against her hips that she now recognises as Roland halts it. "No! We hafta be here when she wakes up, 'kay?"

"You don't think we should let her sleep in peace?"

"Umm," Robin's question has clearly thrown the boy, "yes, but we'll just hafta be estra quiet. Regina don't sleep much," he whispers, like he's imparting her deepest darkest secret. If he only knew that she's pretty sure the adults of the castle, at least those who tolerate or oddly (it's always going to be so odd to her) care for her have, by now, all noticed the increasingly dark smudges under eyes that makeup just won't cover anymore. "But she'll wanna see us, me 'cause I'm her best friend an' you 'cause she was worried."

"And you know she was worried how, my boy?" There's a teasing lilt in Robin's voice, one she recognises from hearing him ask the boy if he really has room for sweats when he didn't finish his greens. She used the same tone with Henry too. It's probably universal to parents.

"Papa," he whispers despairingly, "I'm her _bestest_ friend, that means I know stuff."

"Ahh," that teasing lilt is still there, warm with affection for his son as Robin drops his voice to a whisper too, "how silly of me, obviously you know things like that."

"She said she knows you were all coming home, but I sawed her when I was 'uposed to be sleepin' and she was always lookin' out the window… or bein' mad that you was taking so long to get back." He drags out the word long, she can picture the stern little look he is more than likely giving Robin right now. Hands comically placed on his hips, eyes narrowed under furrowed brows and a frown with matching pout to boot. "You was gone a really, _really_ long time, papa."

"I know," Robin says, soft and anguished over being away from his son longer than planned. And she knows there will be a reason. And it will be logical and completely valid. But she's still mad at him because Roland's right; she _was_ worried. Had to stop herself from going out there to drag him back by his ear more than once, and the fact that he's dug his way under her skin only to turn around and make her wonder if he's even alive infuriates her. Regina's more than a little bit tempted to kill him herself now that she knows he's safe.

"I wanted to come back as soon as I'd left, you know that, right?" There's a pause where Roland must nod, "We had to travel a little bit further than we planned, that's all, and do you remember that really big storm the other night?"

"Yeah…"

She almost lets them know she's awake when she hears the slight tremor in Roland's voice, remembers the storm that woke them on the fifth night. After getting Roland to agree to close his eyes and _try, just try to sleep sweetheart; it'll make the time go faster._ After spending a fair amount of time in the living quarters trying to muffle a seizure and collapsing into bed beyond exhausted they'd awoke a few hours later to the sky flashing and loud, angry crashes that had terrified Roland.

"I know they're scary, my boy, but you were with Regina, yes? She kept you safe, and warm, and dry." Another pause while he waits for some sort of acknowledgement from his son, "Well, because of how far we had to go to hunt it took us longer to get back here, and when the storm hit we were so close to the castle that we'd decided not to camp. We wanted to get back to our families as soon as possible. But… that meant when it started raining we had to find shelter really quickly, because the tents would have flooded if we'd set them up where we were."

Roland huffs, clearly he understands as much as he can with how Robin's explained himself and having lived in a forest for most of his life already, bar the time they spent in the Dark Castle, but he's still obviously put out.

"Hey, put that bottom lip away; I'm fine and so are your uncles. And we are all very, very sorry that we made you wait for so long."

When she feels the bed shift again and Roland lets out a hastily muffled peal of giggles, she opens her eyes to see Robin using his lengthened beard to tickle him. When Robin pulls back he catches her watching them, smile still present but wary. He must remember her promise to yell at him in the morning.

"Regina," Roland gives a delighted yelp when he turns to see why his father stopped, throws himself down onto the mattress again and smacks a kiss to her cheek, "papa's home! He came back, like you said he would!"

She bops his nose with her finger and feels a grin forming across her face to match the sunshine bright one on his. "I can see that," she says as her smile lessens ever so slightly as she sits up to look at Robin properly in the morning light. He has a few scratches and bruises dotted around on the bits of skin she can see, but other than that looks no worse than he did last night, if slightly more rested. "And did you tell him that he needs to be home quicker next time?"

"Uh-huh," Roland bounces on his knees, "he promised to find a way to let me know if it 'appens again."

"Roland," Robin calls the boy's attention back to him, "your Uncle John is probably awake by now, why don't you go and show him that wonderful art work of yours?" His eyes shift to Regina as he speaks, he's going to let her yell at him she realises. He's getting Roland out of the room so she can get everything that's built up in the last four days out of her system and away from innocent bystanders.

Roland hesitates, looks back and forth between them both with his lip between his teeth. "I'm sure he would love to see it, honey," she prompts gently when he still looks loathe to leave despite them being able to tell how much he wants to see Little John, "we're only going to talk about boring grown up things here, anyway." It works. Roland pulls a face as soon as the term 'grown up things' is said, often declares his hatred of all things grown up whenever one of them has to pass up time with him to go to a council meeting.

He scrambles off of the bed, skips to where his clothes for today are neatly laid over her vanity and rushes back to let Robin dress him while he hops from one foot to the other. Robin smothers curses with a laugh as he tries to button his tunic, "Alright, just one moment Roland, then you can go I swear!"

As soon as he's done he hurries over to the chaise where one of the Lockley's had placed the painting after it was apparently shown to Robin while she still slept. Seeing him hesitate by the door to her living quarters and the way out, Robin sighs and goes to lead him through to other room. She can hear them talking as she stands from the bed. Roland seems to be getting a promise that as soon as they're done being all boring and grown up they'll come fetch him.

Regina notices how Robin doesn't say when they'll be done, which is probably for the best as now that Roland is gone she can feel herself getting more worked up. Her arms are tight around her waist by the time Robin gets back, she's not pacing just yet but she can feel the nervous tick in her legs begging her to move, to burn off some of the anxious energy starting to build.

He doesn't speak, just stands a few feet from the bed and her, part of her is grateful he's kept his distance as well as making it clear he's only that far away for her benefit. It makes it seem ok to angry at him in a weird way. Like he understands why when she herself is barely touching the surface.

"Don't you _ever_ , ever do that again," she says, her voice low and scratchy with anger, "You don't… you don't get to do that again. He was terrified, Robin! Five days, you said it would only be five days a-at the worst. You were gone for almost a week!" Regina is vaguely aware that she's getting louder with each word, getting closer and closer to screaming at him and Robin just stands there and lets her.

And fuck, that infuriates her too even though she knows if he fought back she'd be just mad.

"Where the hell were you? Where the _fuck_ did you go that kept you away from him?" Robin stays quiet but there's a look in his eyes that she doesn't quite understand, it's not really familiar but she brushes it aside in favour of finally letting some energy out. She makes a sharp gesture with one arm and the chair in front of her vanity splinters with a resounding _crack._ It's so loud she flinches but he doesn't even blink. "Do you have _any idea_ how hard it was to have him ask when you were coming home, coming back to us- _him_ , when I had no idea if you even _would_? FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, SAY SOMETHING."

"Regina…" he sighs again, lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and for one glorious second she thinks he might scream back at her, might validate her anger because she thinks she's being a little bit irrational. She just doesn't care. "I wanted to get word to you, to both of you, that I was safe the second we realised it was going to be more than two days. But you know why we couldn't; if Zelena's spies had spotted a carrier pigeon we would have been sitting ducks."

And she knows that, of course she does, it had been one of her points as to why they might not be hearing word from their scouting parties months ago. She'd even grudgingly suggested they avoid using them while her sister's flea ridden pests roam the sky. Logically she knows they had no way to let anyone know they were coming back, had just been a bit delayed by elements out of their control. But she needs to get this out. Because that bubbly, acidic burning in her stomach had spent the last few days eating away at her while the voice in her head, Cora's voice, laughed at her for being so worried over someone who would never, _could_ never look twice at her.

"I don't care," she wraps her arms back around her waist when that unfamiliar look on his face solidifies. "I don't fucking care, _you have a child_. You don't get be unreachable for days on end, ok? You just don't. And yes, you're fine, and the stupid storm was the main reason but you do not get to volunteer for jobs that take you away from him. Not when you know you can't let us know if you aren't coming back to us." She is so far into her ranting that she doesn't even notice the slip, doesn't notice that she's not solely enraged on Roland's behalf anymore but Robin definitely does.

"What was meant to happen if you weren't? What was I supposed to tell him if you came back hurt… or if you didn't come back at all?" She's moving now, shifting back and forth, agitated again when she thinks of how on a different day, a different mission, that could well be what happens. The thought makes her sick to her stomach and panic stick in her lungs. Because Roland cannot lose his father, she won't allow it, but she's only just starting to see that maybe _she_ can't lose him either. "What am I meant to tell him when something does happen?"

"Hey," all of the sudden hands are cupping her face, gently forcing her wild eyes to look into his calm ones, "what do you mean 'when something happens'? I'm not going anywhere without a fight, milady."

Regina shoves at his chest, her waning anger rearing its head again, "You might not have a choice!" She shoves at him again, incensed when he merely moves with it, hands sliding down to her shoulders and lets her take her fear and frustration out on him but doesn't allow her the momentum to hurt either one of them, "You don't get to act so careless about things like this when YOU STILL HAVE YOUR SON!" This time she pounds the sides of her fists against his chest. This time he lets her. Lets her rage and scream and hit him until she runs out of steam. "Don't you dare leave him, don't you fucking dare, Hood. I swear to God, if you ever do something like this again, I'll kill you mysel-mmph."

He kisses her. Uses the hands curled around her biceps to haul her the remaining few inches in and slams his mouth against hers. And for a moment she forgets why she was yelling at him. Her breath hitches and her hands scrabble against the worn cotton of his shirt as she starts to kiss him back. When he pulls back with a low gasp Regina blinks, mildly surprised to notice she'd closed her eyes in the first place.

"Forgive me, milady, I probably shouldn't have done that; you're rather stunning when you're yelling at me."

She doesn't give him another chance to say more because her world has just slotted back into place. The acid burning through her stomach lining has ceased, her heart is racing for an entirely different reason and she might finally be scratching just below the surface of why she was so upset in the first place. So she doesn't give him time to say anything else, she uses the grip on his shirt to haul herself onto tip toes, crashes their mouths back together and puts everything she has into it.

Regina's not even aware that they've been moving until her knees hit the back of her bed and cause her to stumble, an embarrassing squeak slips past her lips as Robin grabs the small of her back to stop her falling. He pulls away slightly, squeezes her hips when she keeps her eyes shut.

"Nothing is going to happen that you don't want…" he says when she stays quiet, both of them breathing heavily despite only having kissed.

"I know," she barely even whispers it, nods against where her forehead rests against his chin.

"Ok," he takes a deep breath, "you say stop, and we stop." That makes her eyes open, slow, confused as she glances up at him. "I believe we've already established that I pay attention, milady. Especially to you."

She should hate it, should hate that he is openly admitting to watching her. She spent her younger years and marriage with her skin constantly crawling, always aware that someone was watching her and hating every second. Her time as the Evil Queen was always a show; people were going to look anyway, so why not give them something to see? Control everything they saw, only show them what she wanted to. But there is something about him, about this thief, that she finds makes her glad he watches her because with him it's not all about looking for his own satisfaction. Robin is looking to learn about her and she's spent every day since Daniel died, barring moments with Henry before he learnt about her past, keeping who she is buried; that way no one can use it against her.

And if he does look for his own satisfaction, Regina is starting to work out that she doesn't mind. She might not admit it out loud just yet, but even she can't ignore the part of herself that whispers _you like it_ when he makes no effort to hide how he looks at her. To hide when he lets his eyes trail up and down her body.

"What if I don't want to stop?" She asks, swallowing when his tongue comes out to wet his lips. Robin doesn't speak, just grins and squeezes her hips again before diving back in.

This time when she stumbles back they do land on the bed, Robin managing to catch his weight on forearms either side of her head with a slightly bewildered look on his face. Biting her lip to try and keep from laughing (she fails miserably but for the life of her she doesn't care because it just makes his smile brighter), Regina reaches up to tug him back down, fingers of one hand weaving into his hair while the other rests against his neck and tugs until he's pressed against her fully. Hips to chest. And fuck does she love it; the weight of him pushing her further into the mattress. Something she always used to hate is another thing she's slowly learning to enjoy if it's with him.

She whimpers into him when she feels his tongue tease along the seam of her lips, pulls him in deeper, teeth biting and pulling at other as they start to fumble with the other's clothing. It's a struggle because neither one seems willing to part for breath, let alone long enough to remove cotton from skin but they manage.

Regina rips herself away with a gasp long enough to yank the shirt she's worked up to his shoulders up and off, tossing it to the side to search for later, when she moves to kiss him again with hands already greedy with the amount of sleep warmed skin in display. Robin holds himself just out of reach, grinning even wider when she makes a displeased noise. Though when he dips down to press open mouthed, sucking kisses to her neck it quickly morphs into a moan.

Her hands fly up to keep him at her pulse point after a particularly toe curling bite but Robin weaves their fingers together and presses them into the mattress either side of her shoulders. His rough whispered, "I intend to savour you, Regina," has her squeezing her thighs together, already slick between them and dying for something, _anything_ that could give an element of release. He slowly makes his way down to the low neckline of her nightgown, stopping every few inches to lick, suck, bite at sections of skin that leave her gasping.

Robin squeezes her hands once, clearly meaning her to keep them to herself for now, before he lets go and she feels fingers trailing up the backs of her bare calves, feather light and a promise of what's to come, before they hit the hem of her dress just above her knees and continue to push it up. Inch by agonising inch until soft calloused palms are wrapping around her ribs, thumbs stroke firmly under her breasts and all bets are off. How he expects her to keep her hands away from him she doesn't know, and she tried so she guesses that'll have to be enough for him but she can feel the soft worn fabric of his pants against her bare thighs and that just won't do.

She fumbles in her quest to untie them when Robin chooses that moment to run his tongue between her breasts, grazing his teeth along the underside of the one not being stroked by his thumb. " _Fuck_ ," her brain short circuits for a second or two when she thinks how wonderful that talented mouth would feel if he used it significantly lower. She can feel her heart pound against her rib cage in anticipation; she's positive he can too by the smile she can feel.

When he chuckles into her chest she manages to pull herself back together, because she might well be as good as naked with him, but she's not letting him getting the last word. Deciding that it's her turn to taunt him, Regina forces her hands to cooperate until the ties holding his pants up are sagging and slips her hand into them. Finds him warm, and hard, and wanting, wraps her hand around him and squeezes firmly as she drags her hand up, down. He stutters out a groan and several curses that has her grinning, oddly proud that her hand on his dick can do that to him. She works his trousers down over his ass, focussing on keeping the fingers around his cock moving, making sure to keep it slow enough to drive him crazy and forcing herself to not get too distracted thinking of how she's going to have that inside her soon.

After a moment of hissing curses and praises alike into her skin Robin bats her hand away. Her protests die before they leave her lips when she realises he's busy kicking the remaining article of clothing off and suddenly he's naked in front of her and she's staring. He's handsome enough as it is with clothes that without makes him almost painfully good looking, and it's really not fair.

"Well, I'll take that as a compliment," he says, making her aware she said at least part of that out loud. "But trust me on this, love… you are a marvel." Robin shifts to push her nightgown up over her breasts (eyes lingering and causing butterflies to break out in her stomach when he bites his lip), and onto the floor. He wastes no time, dropping back to lick at a pebbled nipple while his hand rubs over the other.

She's on fire. They've barely even started and Regina is on fire, lighting up wherever he touches her and positively burning in the places he doesn't. And god, she thinks might actually combust when she finally feels him slip into her and she can't fucking wait. Her hands move to his back, nails digging in every time one of her nipples is taken firmly between his teeth. She lets them explore for a moment, running along the ridges of muscles that are constantly rippling as he moves, but when he starts to kiss and lick his way down her to navel it is all she can do cling to him and spread her legs a little wider so he can rest between them more comfortably.

Shit, if this is going where she thinks it's going (it's definitely going where she thinks it is going) it's all going to be over very soon indeed. She's only ever been eaten out by one person, and even then it took Maleficent weeks to talk her into letting her try, promising she'd love it and that if by some chance she didn't, they'd never do it again. But she _had_ loved it, had been eager for every brief moment where they were able to be alone during their time together because then she might be able to feel pleasure with someone in her bed, rather than just pain and humiliation. But it has been years, a lifetime, since she's had someone like that and Robin is tugging her underwear down her legs and resting his forehead just below her belly button and _oh God, he's actually going to do this._

"Oh God," she's only partially aware that she said that out loud, Robin still hasn't moved beyond her panty line, seems to be bracing himself as he kisses just above where she actually needs him to.

"I told you I planned on savouring you," he looks up then, pupils blown black before he winks, pushes her thighs further apart and ducks down to lick between, eyes locked onto hers the whole fucking time.

"Fuck," she was right, his tongue is wonderful on her cunt, and when he moves from entrance to clit, spending a few seconds laving over it firm and sure, before moving back she cries out.

He takes his time, goes down on her like he's dying of thirst and she's an oasis in the middle of the desert, pays attention to what makes her gasp versus what makes her shout. By the time he's wrapped his mouth around her clit and slips two fingers into her, angled upwards and finding that spot that makes stars erupt behind her eyes she's given up trying to stay quiet, given up caring if she is loud. Because she never wants this to end, never wants her nerve endings to stop tingling in a good way for once. And she is so fucking close that when she starts hearing herself form words that babble she really couldn't care less.

"O-oh god, _Robin,_ don't _aah_ don't stop," and bless everything about him he doesn't. She has one hand tangled in his hair, keeping his face pressed to her clit and the other is tugging at her own. She's a mess and for once Regina doesn't care.

"Sh _iiit_ ," when he changes from hard, slow licks that match the pace his fingers have set alternating between massaging that magical spot and fucking sharply into her to a firm suck she loses the meagre amount of control she still had left. Her hips buck into him and he loops one arm over a thigh to stop her from unintentionally ripping herself away from him. "Shit, _fuck I'm…_ R-robin I'm clo-" he somehow grazes his teeth over her clit in time with a deep, hard suck as his fingers press firm inside her and the world explodes.

The fire that's been burning slowly through her since he first kissed her flares, rushes through her veins and sets everything alight, makes everything brighter, warmer and more vibrant as she flies apart.

By the time she comes back to herself (she thinks she might well have blacked out for a minute), Robin is hovering over her on one arm, fingers brushing her damp hair back with a smug half grin on his face.

"S-savoured… enough?" she's panting, and dear lord that really should embarrass her, _that is not how a lady presents herself, Regina_ but Cora's voice is silenced tonight by the faint ringing in her ears and the look on Robin's face.

His eyes, if it is even possible, darken further and he drops his gaze to rake it over her slowly, pausing at her hips, breasts and lips before settling back at her own as he lets out a small, rumbling laugh. "I don't think I'll ever savour you enough; you are exquisite milady."

Biting her lip, Regina feels herself blush for the first time this morning, and pulls him back down enough to kiss him, all teeth and tongue and moaning when she can taste herself on him. They shift ever so slightly mid-kiss, Robin swapping the arm he's balanced on and Regina bending her legs slightly to accommodate him. He gives her another moment to say enough, to tell him she's done but all she does is move to guide him in, no resistance to speak of.

Robin drops his head to her clavicle, breathes sharp and deep through his nose as she presses a kiss to his brow, both letting out a shaky breath when their hips come back into contact. "Fuck," he's panting too now, "you feel amazing…" he trails off as he pulls back slightly, groaning, and pushes back in. When Regina inhales sharply, back arching just so and lifting one leg slightly to plant her foot flat on the bed he takes it as a sign to move.

And move he does. He doesn't quite pound into her, keeps it steady, but each stroke is hard, and after the first few he's found that magic angle that causes him to push up against that spot again. Regina didn't expect to come again tonight, normally only ever comes once, if she does at all. But then she's crying out and clinging to him tighter and thinks that maybe, for the first time since she was young and giddy sneaking around with Mal behind the Kings back, she just might.

"There?"

She tries to answer, she really does but all that comes out is a thready sounding _uh-huh_ so she nods, frantic and desperate to keep him there.

"Ok," Robin grunts, redoubling his efforts as he moves one hand down her body, stopping to clutch at her every few inches until he reaches between them, fingers finding her clit and circling firmly.

Regina has a brief moment where she thinks she should really be mortified by the noise, scream she just made, but as long as Robin keeps touching her, keeps fucking her she can't find it in her to care if the whole damn kingdom hears them. The angle is good, _so fucking good_ , but it isn't perfect, so she bends her other leg and wraps it around his hips, hiking it higher until she sees stars and whimpers, and uses the foot planted on her bed to move her hips to meet his, hands clutching at his sides.

"Oh Gods," he moans before crashing their mouths together again in a messy, biting kiss, neither one quite managing to keep it up between powerful thrusts that never miss, stopping to muffle moans and cries in between fervent kisses.

"Are, _shite,_ are you…" he trails off, goes back to mapping the inside of her mouth with his tongue.

But she's already nodding, whimpering into his mouth. "Yes," she gasps at a particularly deep thrust, "fu _uhuuck._ "

Robin nods against her, mumbles something against her lips she doesn't quite catch and presses firmer against her clit, alters his hips just so and she's flying. Back arching further into him, mouth tearing away in a scream that breaks and goes silent as every single cell comes alive.

She comes back down to earth to the sound of Robin cursing, his hips stuttering before pressing in once more and spilling inside her. She pets at his back, runs a hand through sweaty, matted hair and presses kisses to his neck and jaw as he too, slowly joins her back on the ground.

Regina frowns as Robin edges back slightly and slips out of her, a trickle of come following, before he moves to the left and collapses next to her, both breathing heavily. Her heart is thundering in her rib cage still, her legs feel shaky and unstable and she honestly doesn't know if she'll be able to move for a while, let alone how she'll be expected to walk all day.

"That," her voices sticks and she clears her throat, tries again, "that was…"

Robin's hand reaches for hers, winds their fingers together and twitches like he was trying to squeeze and gave up part way through. "Yeah," he agrees, knowing full well what she was trying to say.

"We um… we should move," at the discouraging noise he makes she tries to think of why they should at all, "Roland… Roland's waiting for us."

Robin groans and leavers himself into a sitting position. For a second she thinks he's working up to getting out of bed but all he does is grab the covers still shoved down the foot of the bed from when they woke up (it felt like so long since she woke to both the Locksley men whispering in her bed) and flop back down, boneless, as he pulls them up over them.

"Sleep first," he slurs, "Then we find Roland."

It sounds like such a marvellous idea that she doesn't even protest, just lets him arrange them under the blanket until he's spooned up behind her, arm wrapped loose around her waist with her hands clutching at it as she drifts back off.

* * *

She wakes up first this time. The sun is higher in the sky but only slightly; she gathers that they have been asleep for just over an hour. Blinking back the fuzziness of sleep, Regina shifts, pulling a face at the tackiness she can feel between her legs and on the sheets beneath her; dried sweat clings to her and she is desperate need of both a bath and relieving herself.

Moving her head to the side she sees that they've moved slightly in their sleep. She's now on her stomach but still pressed firmly into Robin, who remains on his side but tilted forwards, like he followed her when she rolled over. Regina bites her lip, content for the first time in what feels like forever despite how grimy she feels, despite the constant ache of missing Henry, despite the hell that she's sure is coming with her sister.

If it weren't for the pressing need in her bladder she'd probably stay there until he wakes too. As it is she moves out from under his arm slowly, freezing when he stirs and only breathing again once he settles, this time on his back. Her spine pops pleasantly as she stretches before padding to her private washroom, neglecting clothes as she daydreams about how a warm bath will feel.

She relieves herself before moving to fill and heat the large bath tub using magic, adding a few oils for scent but deciding against bubbles. It's as she moves to put the stoppers back that her hand twitches hard enough that she notices; she's been so distracted that Regina can't even be sure if that was the first one, or if she'd missed it just like she has clearly missed the tell-tale tingles that normally precede it.

Biting her lip, she glances to where the cabinet housing her toiletries sits, objectively it's not far at all, only several feet but she can feel the other tremors now; her legs aren't trembling from sex anymore. _It's not that bad yet, you can put the bottles back and have time to sit down._ Biting her lip she gathers the bottles quickly, but as she takes her second wobbly step a harder tremor seizes her and her hands fumble, glass shatters on the stone floor and there's a confused call of her name from the other room.

Her hands are completely useless now, she manages to step back from the glass scattered around but when she tries to grip the edge of the tub to ease her way down to the floor her hands won't cooperate and she falls, thudding to ground with a sharp whimper when her knees buckle.

Angry tears build up behind her eyes as she grits her teeth, seething when she feels herself slip sideways, no longer able to hold herself up.

 _Weak,_ it isn't even just Cora's voice this time, every part of her hates that she has to live like this right now. Burns with rage that there's no end in sight. Despises herself for letting it happen in the first fucking place.

She's so busy berating herself that she never hears Robin call her name when she hits the ground, loud and concerned. Doesn't even realise he's out of bed until he's crouching in front of her, pants on but not tied, shirtless and eyes wide with worry as he keeps her from hitting the ground further. Part of her is glad he's here, especially when he moves to sit beside her, gently moving her so that she's all but in his lap, back against his chest as he holds her through it. Never once saying a word. Another part, the larger one is mortified. She should have pulled his shirt on when she passed it; she'd still be having a seizure but she wouldn't be naked. She wouldn't be as vulnerable.

Robin waits until he has a hold of her and fumbles around behind them and produces a robe that he drapes across her front; her arms still jerking and twitching too much to try and put it on properly. She still hates that he saw her like that, but something in her heart clenches, makes her lean further into him because he covered her up. He made sure she couldn't hurt herself and then made sure she wasn't as uncomfortable and it makes her traitorous heart skip a beat or two.

They stay there, sat on cold stone floor until she stops shaking, and then they stay sitting in silence for a little while longer. Robin had started running a soothing hand up and down one of her arms part way through and he doesn't let up even now it's over. It is just another small, minuscule thing he has done to show he cares, at least in some manner, and it baffles her.

Confuses and terrifies her because she cannot understand it. Cannot wrap her head around why or even _how_ someone could come to care for her; she's the Evil Queen, rotten to the core. She doesn't deserve it and as she's never truly had it in the first place, not from her parents (Daddy loved her, he did, but he never stopped anyone hurting her), nor from her husband, so she has no idea how to handle it. No one has really cared for her since Daniel, and even with him, sweet and loving though he was, they were children sneaking around. Moments where he could hold her for longer than a handful of minutes were few and far between.

Mal cared. They both did in their own way, but neither of them was able to give everything. Regina being barely twenty-one at the time, married to the King and unknowing of how to show or even accept affection, Maleficent still battling with her own revenge and anger at King Stephan. Sometimes she thinks they were doomed from the start, but even with how their friendship ended Regina can never bring herself to regret it.

"Are you alright?" he asks gently, bringing her attention back to him and where they're curled together against her now no doubt cold bath.

"I'm fine," she says, brushes aside his concern because as much as she hates it, this is nothing new anymore. She aches and she will have bruises from the fall, but she's still breathing (no matter how hard that gets sometimes) so that has to count for something.

Robin huffs, "That's not what I meant," he gestures to her legs, "you're bleeding."

And so she is, she must not have been far enough away from the glass before her legs gave out. Consequently they are now dotted with cuts, some tiny, insignificant while others ooze blood and have pieces of glass that glitter as the light hits them.

"Oh," now she knows they're there, she can feel the sting of them. Robin moves her from his lap to the side, turns his back to rummage through cabinets while she pulls the robe on properly and ties it. He doesn't turn back until she's covered, something she's grateful for, and when he does he uses a folded up towel to sweep the glass into a pile before dropping to sit in front of her, a small washcloth and tweezers beside him. He reaches over to dampen the washcloth in the tub before gently picking up her legs and places them in his lap.

It's not until he picks up the tweezers and starts to gently remove the broken glass embedded into her flesh, quick and with a practised hand that Regina even realises what he had brought them over for in the first place.

"Robin… you don't need to do that," she starts, hesitant to break the silence as he works, "I can heal them."

"No, not right now you can't, and don't try to tell me you can," he adds, looking up when she opens her mouth to argue with a look she hasn't seen before on his face. It's not anger, more frustration, but for the life of her she can't work out why, can't work out what she's done to put it there. "You're always drained after a seizure, Regina, and magic tires you as well, do you really think it's a good idea to use it right after one?"

He's right, magic always comes with a price, and most of the time (unless it is a truly dark or complex spell) the price is energy. Healing magic is even more draining than other forms, especially when the caster isn't trained specifically in that medium.

"You still don't need t-"

"Yes, I do. I do need to do this, Regina," he sighs, wipes away blood from a cluster of nicks to see if there's any glass still there and squares his jaw, "I don't know how else to help you when they happen, I don't know what caused them and I am not asking you to tell me, but I am asking you to let me do this."

He looks up at her then, that unfamiliar look on face more prominent and she finds herself nodding, whispering "ok," and staying quiet as he works. When all the glass is gone from her skin, he moves to clear the pile on the floor making sure to get every splinter as she reheats the bath water.

Robin helps her with the robe and getting into the tub, one arm supporting hers and the other around her back, and when she doesn't let go once she's sat down in the water he kicks off his pants and slips in behind her. Neither says a word but he presses a kiss into her shoulder blade and she leans back until she's resting against him.

She sees it when she moves to wrap his arms around her. The same lion tattoo she'd seen at twenty years old from the window of a tavern.

"Regina, what is it?" he asks when she freezes against him.

She very nearly uses magic to disappear and damn the price, but when he lifts her chin to look at him, blue eyes piercing into hers she pushes it back. Running was easier before. When she had no idea who the man with the lion tattoo was. But she knows him now, knows what kind of man he is. Knows how much he adores his little boy. Knows enough about him to be scared of staying and everything going up in flames like always… but she also knows she's more scared of running away than she is of what could go wrong.

She _should_ run, she should tell him this is a mistake and that she had a moment of weakness. Should push him and his son away before they get hurt like everyone around her always does, but she _is_ weak when it comes to them. Has been since the moment she dived between Roland and that flying monkey and he smiled shyly at her as she handed him a new toy.

Regina has only ever been powerless like that when it came to Henry, but it's starting to be clear that she will also always be the same way when it comes to Robin and his son. And it makes her stomach clench with nerves, but she's terrified of what she could become without them. They helped keep her head above water without Henry; losing them when he's meant to be her soulmate might be what drags her back under.

"Nothing, don't worry." Lifting his arm Regina brushes a kiss over the lion.

* * *

They don't tell anyone about the change in their relationship, but they don't go out of their way to hide it either. Regina doesn't even have to stumble her way through a full explanation of why she doesn't feel comfortable telling everyone before he's agreeing.

"I don't see why we need to say anything anyway, milady," he says once he understands what she's rambling about, "this is our business, not theirs. No one needs to know, if you'd prefer."

"I don't want you to think I'm trying to hide anything… that I'm…" she sighs, struggling to find the right wording.

Robin chuckles, takes her hands in his and presses a kiss to her brow, "Regina, there's a difference between outright hiding whatever we are, and not explicitly saying anything. I don't think you're ashamed of this, if that's where that beautiful head of yours is going, nor do I begrudge you the privacy of not having everyone in the castle know about our personal lives. How about this," he says when she still looks unsure, "we don't tell anyone, but we don't keep everything behind closed doors?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I wouldn't kiss you up against a wall in full view of anyone," he teases "but I might kiss you on the cheek, for example, when we have to go our separate ways." Winking, he wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her forward to brush his lips against her cheek and across to her ear, "would that be agreeable to you, Your Majesty?"

"Yes," she says as she tries to keep her voice from wavering, but he's cheating breathing into her ear like that when he knows by now how much she loves it.

* * *

Roland doesn't even bat an eye the first time they kiss in front of him. Rolls his eyes in a near perfect imitation of Regina and looks so put upon that both she and Robin have to bite back laughs as he huffs at them "You've always been like that, papa, even before all the yucky stuff."

Snow keeps grinning at her, never actually asks what is happening between the two of them, but it never stops her watching them like a hawk. Even when David tries to guide her attention away from the couple.

Granny takes one look at them a few days after their talk and says "It's about damn time," before she goes back to helping Roland pick out some fruit for the picnic basket they're supposed to be packing.

And it's nice. Being with someone like that. It still terrifies her, probably always will, and she hasn't told Robin about Tinkerbelle and pixie dust and prophecies. But it feels _good_ to be wanted by someone, and not just because she's a trophy to be had and shown off, but because he values time spent with her and wants to know anything she is willing to share with him. It's not just about sex with Robin (though admittedly that is fantastic and the best she has ever had), because half the time Roland is squirming his way between them in bed, waking them up with elbows and knees digging into unwanted places as he mutters that "you hafta _share_ Regina, papa, she was my friend first."

The quiet moments are wonderful but it doesn't last. Zelena rears her green head again and they're all sitting around another table in yet another council meeting trying to work out how to stop her. They make plans to head towards Rumplestiltskin's castle in a week. Enough time to organise themselves and plan it around Zelena's time away from the Dark Castle, but not too long so as to lose whatever advantage this might give them. Snow's only seven months pregnant so they still have time; not a lot, but enough.

Regina spends every waking minute she has that isn't with Roland or his father up to her elbows in research. She barely sleeps and doesn't really eat at all, it's only when Robin talks her into it that she'll even sit down and take a moment for herself. He cheats and uses his adorable child to get her to agree to something as small as a nap with him knowing she can never really say no to Roland.

The night before they leave for Rumple's castle finds her in the same spot she's been every night, hunched over a spell book that weighs a ridiculous amount, trying to work out what spell it is Zelena plans to cast using the Charming's baby. There are far too many spells that require a new-born and each one is more horrific than the last. Even at her worst she'd never even thought to look in these books, she'd never even really gone after Emma as a baby, had only wanted to stop them putting her in the wardrobe and creating a saviour. She very much doubts she would have gone ahead with killing her, she probably would just made sure they were all separated but under the curse. (It could only be broken when she turned twenty-eight, and if the saviour was cursed herself then she'd never age.)

The thought that the wicked bitch is planning on using a baby for something is raising every red flag possible and the panic that's been there but manageable for months starts to bubble back up at alarming rates. Because if Zelena is willing to do something that one of these spells requires, then what else is she willing to do?

She's exhausted, emotionally and physically, and every time she has to tell them that she has no idea what to do, what Zelena is planning or how to stop her she feels a stabbing twist of guilt. Because this is all her fault. And she has to fix it. She might have her moments with the two idiots but she's finally on equal footing with them in terms of where they stand, and she's already caused them to lose one child; she will not let them lose another.

Robin had come to check on her a few hours ago, brought a plate of food they both know she'll forget to eat and pressed a kiss to her hair when he failed to get her to take a break. She might not have listened to him when he said staying up all night buried in books she's already read wouldn't help, but her back is aching something fierce and he'd left after securing a promise that she'd move to one of the overstuffed couches in the same library he'd found her in a million years ago.

It may have taken her close to three hours to do it but she moves to the plush, musty sofa with a pile of books. She's barely sat down, taking a moment to just _breathe_ with her in her hands when she notices them trembling ever so slightly. Blinking she takes note that her head is pounding along with them and she has a brief moment of confusion. Wonders if this is because she hasn't been eating properly or because she has somehow missed the usual warning signals before her whole body starts to shake. It takes a few seconds for Regina to realise it's going to be bad before she loses all control, slips from the couch with how violently her body is shaking and the world goes black.

When she comes to it's to Robin hovering over her, face drawn with worry, her body tight with pain and she's so confused as to what's happened that she tears up. Robin hushes her, soothes her gently with assurances that she's in her own bed and that he brought her here, that he'd been coming to check on her when she fell. His voice is tight and he keeps reaching out to touch her like he's making sure she's still there.

She wants to ask what happened, how long she was unconscious for and she can see even in her addled mind that he has questions too, but she is so very tired.

"Sleep love," he says as he climbs into bed beside her, opens his arms for her to roll into and rests their foreheads together. "This mess will still be here later."

* * *

As soon as she returns from following Snow and Charming to find Glinda she seeks him out. He's with his men in one of the castles common rooms, sat around laughing at something Much has said when he spots her and falls silent, frowning at the expression she's sure is there for all to see.

"Snow and David want to gather everyone in the great hall, they have an announcement about the Wicked Witch." She speaks to all of them, but she never takes her eyes off of Robin, relief surging through her when he suggests the Merry Men help gather everyone and they all move to do just that.

"What happened?" He asks the moment they're alone.

"We need Emma to defeat Zelena," she takes a shaky breath as she begins to feel overwhelmed with how fast everything is now progressing.

"Emma's in a different realm…"

"Yes," she whispers as she watches him, see the moment he realises what they mean to do.

"Which can't be reached by anything other than the Dark Curse," he runs a hand roughly over his jaw, clearly agitated but with what part she doesn't know. "And are you ok with doing that?"

Oh, that is not what she was expecting. He's reaching for her, pulling her into a hug as she processes what he just said. "I won't be the one casting it. I can't."

"Not that I want you casting something that dark again, but may I ask why?"

"The price of the curse is the heart of the thing you love most," she forces herself to say it, waits for him to pulls away from her when he works out how she cast it the first time but all he does is hug her tighter. "And, well the thing I love most isn't somewhere I can get to right now… and even if I could I wouldn't do it."

"Because it's Henry."

"Because it's Henry."

"Good," he says "I don't ever want you to be in that position again, I never want you to feel something like that is your only option." He kisses her hair again and sighs against her, "How is it going to get cast then, who's going to pay the price?"

She's not in the slightest bit shocked that he's asking that because despite his years living in a forest Robin is an extremely smart man, smarter than most of the morons she's been forced to cohabitate with over the last year.

"Snow's going to cast it… using David's heart."

* * *

Everything was going to plan, but then David is lying dead on the floor, Zelena has thrown yet another curve ball and Snow is begging her to split her heart in half. It works, thank God it works, and she smiles for half a second before what Zelena has done hits her. She turns to watch the clouds of green and purple mix together, stomach rolling as one thought is at the centre of her mind.

_We won't remember each other._


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina wakes up in Storybrooke without Henry, or any idea of what has happened since saying goodbye to him.

The moment her eyes open she’s confused. She’s in her bed at home, silk sheets wrapped tight around her legs, boiler ticking over somewhere downstairs and it feels wrong but for the life of her she can’t work out why just yet. Pushing it to the back of her mind (she’ll worry about it when she’s more awake), Regina forces herself from the warmth of her bed; she needs to get breakfast ready for Henry.

But Henry shouldn’t be here. _No one should be._

It hits her as she’s spitting toothpaste into the sink. She smashes the glass she uses to hold her toothbrush and paste, knocks it onto the floor as she darts from the room, tears down the hallway and opens his bedroom door to a nightmare; it’s all the same and yet completely different. His bed is still made, comic books still spread over his desk… but he’s not there. She can already tell that he isn’t in the house. Even when he was doing everything possible to spend time away from her, when he hated her, the house was never silent. Hasn’t been silent, truly and utterly silent, since she adopted him and brought that tiny, wriggling, screaming little boy home and promised him the world.

Regina can’t breathe.

Her son is gone again and she can’t breathe, and this time there will be no savior bringing him back after the worst day of her life. Because she sent him over the line with Emma and new memories and tried not to let anyone see her cry as she reversed the Dark Curse.

_So why the fuck is she still here?_

Panic claws its way up her throat, strangles her until she is slipping down the polished wood of Henry’s doorway. Chokes her until she’s crumpled on his floor, failing to hold back hysterical tears and wondering what the hell went wrong. If Henry is even safe. If the spell even worked because she watched him drive away with Emma in that stupid yellow car. She _knows_ she did because she swears she can still feel her heart breaking.

Regina isn’t really sure how long she stays there, curled up against his doorframe, staring at his abandoned bed before the knocking starts. She doesn’t even hear it to start with; she’s still too consumed with grief and confusion to notice the steady banging on her front door.

* * *

Snow’s pregnant. Henry is gone, Emma is gone, there are new faces in Storybrooke who weren’t brought over in the original curse, Snow is very fucking pregnant, and no one can remember a damn thing. David is skeptical but one look at her face when she mentions that Henry isn’t here and he seems to realise that she didn’t, _couldn’t_ have done this. Snow doesn’t even question it and Regina can’t tell if she’s more flummoxed or oddly grateful that all she wanted to know was if Regina knows _how_ this is possible.

They spend over an hour going over everything they remember in her living room, David made them all cups of tea while Regina cleaned herself up after letting them in with tear tracks not nearly hidden enough and rumpled pyjamas. She would normally be mortified, hell she would normally never answer the door looking like that in the first place. But all she could think once the pounding of the door knocker registered was _Henry’s back._

By the time Snow and her shepherd prince have left, Regina feels like screaming. Something very clearly happened; they’ve managed to gather that they are missing close to a year, give or take a few months based on Snow’s pregnancy, but she can not understand what has happened to cause this. And that terrifies her.

Snow squeezes her hand as they leave, promises that they’ll figure this out, that they’ll find out what has happened to them, and when David is a few steps down the path and out of earshot she mummers that she’ll make sure people know it wasn’t her. That she will make it known they’re working together to fix it. Regina can’t find the right words to say to that so she merely clenches her teeth and nods, uncomfortable and pleased that _at least one person won’t automatically assume it was me._

She toys with the idea of going for a drive or walk; figures she could spot if there’s anything more out of place with the town but the thought of facing the outside world, at least for today, is more than she can handle. So she changes out of the slacks and blouse she’d thrown on to present a front to the Uncharmings and reaches for clothes she hasn’t worn since running around after a just-learnt-to-walk-and-trying-to-get-into- _everything-_ Henry (leggings and a cashmere sweater) and curls up on a sofa around her rapidly cooling tea, the throw from the end of her bed over her knees.

Nothing is making any sense to her. She knows she reversed the curse, _knows it_ because she can remember the feeling of her magic intertwining itself with Pan’s, can remember it wrapping around them all, pulling them to safety even as it felt like her life was ending while her little boy drove further and further away. And though it clearly wasn’t, it feels like all that happened mere hours ago. It’s solid at the forefront of her mind and Regina has long since learned to trust her instincts. They went back, exactly how long they were there for, what happened and how the hell they ended up back here with no memories of anything past being engulfed in green and purple smoke she has no idea. But aside from the obvious several month clue of Snow’s stomach, Regina can feel the difference in her body.

It doesn’t feel like it did right after waking up, right after being strapped down to that table and wishing he would just hurry up and end it - end _her_ \- but she wasn’t feeling this… off when they were scrambling for a way to stop Pan’s curse. Hasn’t felt this out of sorts, this drained, since the first few nights in Neverland and feeling like her brain would drip out of her ears if she shook much more. _Something_ has happened since leaving and returning home and her body feels like it would be quite content to collapse and not move for months.

Regina is more than half tempted to let it.

She’s so distracted she doesn’t even realise that her hands are trembling until her mug slips from her fingers and crashes to the floor, cold tea and china going everywhere. She is still staring at the mess, shocked and yet at the same time not at all surprised, when the seizure starts in earnest. There is a brief moment where she thinks it’ll be easy to cope with. Where she recalls that they had started to ease off towards the end of her time in Neverland, not quite as jarring, or drawn out, or happening every few hours but something she was starting to be able to navigate. Something she was finding easier to handle. She was finding it easier to predict when one was about to happen more often than not, she was down to maybe one ‘bad’ one every other day, and minor muscle spasms sporadically between them; surely a year has given them time to peter off further.

It becomes abundantly clear within seconds that that is not the case.

Frustrated tears sting behind her eyes as she barely manages to keep her jerking limbs on the couch. As it is, one of her useless arms shudders so violently that it drops from where she has slid down onto the cushions and slams palm down into the shards of china; the sharp shock of pain bites at her for a moment before it’s swept aside with another full body shudder.

Her head is pounding by the time it’s over and she feels sick.

If this is what they are like after a year or so of having them, of having a complete lack of control in the most basic sense she dreads to think what they will look like in the future. Because she’d thought that if they were becoming less frequent, though once a day instead of once an hour is still pretty fucking frequent, then they would stop sooner or later. And this may be the first one she’s had since waking up this morning but it’s still the same. Still just as frightening. Still leaves her feeling weaker after a seizure than in the lead up. And worst of all, still fucking happening.

A dull throb from her right hand draws her attention. There’s a decent sized gash across her palm, smaller nicks surround it with miniscule china shavings embedded into her flesh stained with the blood that’s oozing from the worst cut. She probably needs stitches. Which means she really should move, clean herself up and get to the hospital because she is fully aware that healing herself is not going to happen just yet, but the idea of leaving the house sends a spike of anxiety through her stomach.

So she moves slowly off of the couch, intending to make it to the first aid box in the kitchen, bleeding hand held aloft. Her head spins when she lifts herself to her feet so instead, she uses the other one to help her shuffle towards the opposite couch away from the debris of her tea, curls into a ball and pulls the throw back over her. Regina picks at the few pieces of mug still in her skin, presses her tattered hand into the blanket, and begs her head to stop spinning, stomach to stop churning, all the while thinking that it’s just a scratch and she’s had worse.

She falls asleep with bloodstains smeared on her skin, sweater and couch, and tears marring her face.

 

* * *

Her magic is still shaky, she can clean away and fix anything she breaks when her hands decide to rebel, but healing is difficult and after speaking with Snow on the phone last night, hearing that no one has had any luck with remembering and there’s a fairly large amount of new people in town she decides to save any magical energy she has until it’s necessary to use.

Regina leaves the house with her hand clumsily wrapped in gauze and drives towards the store, swearing every time she has to change gears and her hand protests having any pressure put on it at all. It takes longer than normal but she makes it in one piece so she counts it as a win. The fact that the parking lot is basically empty this early and she’s in and out with everything she needs in under fifteen minutes helps. By the time she pulls into a space near Granny’s, her craving for her regular coffee too much to ignore when she’s driving past the diner and not in her own home, she’s only interacted with the store clerk: a teenage girl who’d looked half asleep still and barely glanced at who she was serving. A niggling thought at the back of her head pushes her into turning off the ignition and following through with getting the coffee: _Do not ever let them see you weak, Regina_ , Cora’s voice hisses. She figures that hiding away and allowing rumours to build falls under them seeing her weak.

Granny’s is different. It’s not busy, not this early, but there are enough people there that Regina hesitates in the doorway when more than half of the early morning customers glance her way for longer than she’d like. It’s Granny who makes her step further into the warmth. She doesn’t even really acknowledge her, doesn’t say anything, merely nods and starts making up a coffee before Regina’s let go of the door. Granny indicates the booth in the back corner with her eyes, it’s relatively empty back there instead of the counter where she’d be in everyone’s eyeline.

“I’ll bring it over when it’s done,” she says, and it’s gruff like she always is with Regina but there’s something in Granny’s eyes that makes her move to the secluded table instead of asking for a takeout cup.

Sliding into the booth, coat and purse between her and the wall, she drops her head into her hands, fingers of her non-bandaged hand rubbing tight circles into her temples while the other one rests with the heel against her forehead. The painkillers she’d dry swallowed on the way back to her car have yet to kick in and her head hasn’t stopped aching since waking up back here.

“What happened to your hand?”

Her head jerks up at the small voice to her left, wincing she turns to see a small boy, one she’s never seen around here before, frowning up at her. He’s staring at her injured hand and with wide, dark eyes and she can’t see anyone around who looks like a parent.

She ignores his question and tries to see if anyone is looking for him. “Where are your parents?”

He gives a small huff, shoves his hands into the pockets of his tan barber jacket and rocks back and forth on the balls of his booted feet. His frown turns into a sheepish grin that she can’t help but smile back at. “Papa was being slow.” He nods once, curls that are sticking out from the beanie shoved onto his head bouncing. “He’ll be here soon,” he says and clambers up into the other side of the booth on his knees. She watches, amused and if she is honest baffled as he takes off his coat and hat, shoves them next to him and bounces up onto his knees again, forearms pressed into the table.

She has a moment where she wonders if this child’s father will react badly to him sitting with her, but he looks so happy to be there that something in her tells her to at least keep an eye on him until his dad catches up.

“You know, your father is probably worried about where you ran off to,” she says.

The little boy shrugs, that sheepish, guilty smile back, “I know,” he scrunches up his nose, “but he was being really, _really_ slow and he promised I could have waffles again!” He grins up at her, smiling from ear to ear and seemingly unfazed about talking to a stranger with his father nowhere to be found.

“Well, waffles _are_ really tasty, so I understand your need to get here quickly, but,” she hesitates, not wanting to overstep with someone else’s child, “your daddy is probably really worried about you now.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, pulls a face before the smile is back and he’s peeking up at her through unruly curls, shy, “but I can sit here with you?”

Regina doesn’t know what she was expecting, but she is pretty sure it wasn’t this; she figured he’d want to wait by the counter where Ruby can keep an eye on him until his father catches up. God knows where he’d run off from. “Of course you can.” She smiles back, small and not quite there but enough to keep him happy. “You know, if we’re going to wait for your father together we should probably know each other’s names.”

“I’m Roland!”

“Hi Roland, my name is Regina.”

Roland nods, happy that they’re on a first name basis now and looks back down at her wrapped hand. “Does it hurt?”

“Oh, ummm…” she trails off unsure of how to answer as she frowns down at her palm.

A coffee cup is placed down in front of her but before she can turn to thank Granny, a much deeper and more accented voice than she was expecting speaks up. “I was told by Granny to give you this, and you young man,” she glances up to see Roland biting his lip and smiling that guilty smile up at a man with matching dimples, “know better than to run off right now.” Roland huffs, clearly trying to work out how he’s going to get around being told off before his father cuts him off, “Don’t even try, Roland, just because you _are_ safe does not change the fact that something bad _could_ have happened to you.”

The man turns to face Regina while his son pouts down at the table and she gets her first proper look at him. He’s tall, nor overly so but definitely taller than her, has a rueful smile hidden slightly by a scruffy, short beard and the bluest eyes she has ever seen. “Sorry about my boy interrupting you, Your Majesty, he usually knows better than to bother people.”

Her mouth drops open a fraction and she blinks at him, confused as to how he seems perfectly comfortable with the Evil Queen sitting with his son. “I- I…”

Roland laughs, pout now gone as he grins up at his dad, “Her name’s not Majesty, Papa! She’s Regina!” He giggles again like his papa is the silliest person on Earth.

His father just grins back at him, and _oh,_ there is that family resemblance, “Is that so?” He glances between his boy and where she sits, still off kilter and no doubt looking _stupid, Regina for goodness sake close your mouth,_ Cora’s voice hisses. She snaps her mouth shut and busies herself with the coffee cup in front of her, brow furrowing when he slides into the booth next to Roland. “Well, my boy, Regina here is a Queen back in our land.”

“Do I hafta call you that too, Regina?”

She looks back to where Roland is looking at her, all beseeching and face scrunched up as he mouths out the words _your majesty_ trying to get a feel for them. She laughs, soft and quiet, completely missing the surprised but pleased twitch of the man’s lips. “No,” she leans forward a touch, like she’s telling him a secret and grins when he throws himself forward too, eager to hear it, “only grown ups have to call me that, like your papa.”

Looking over to where he sits, she raises an eyebrow at him glad when he understands, “Robin of Locksley, _Your Majesty._ ” He emphasises her title, eyes amused like he’s daring her to say something. And there are so many things she wants to say to that, because she knows who he is now, the outlaw - _thief_ driving King George and Prince John mad from the depths of Sherwood Forest on the borders of both their kingdoms.

But she is still so completely thrown by this man and his boy, neither of whom seem anything but content to be in her presence, that she can’t think of a single damn thing to say that doesn’t sound idiotic.

There’s a shuffle that draws Robin’s attention, head turning to focus completely on where his son is clambering closer to his side, “Papa, Regina’s hurt.” He points to where she’s cradling the coffee cup, awkward with the bandaged palm cupping it with barely any pressure and her non-dominant hand fiddling with the edge.

“Oh, no Roland,” she moves her hand off of the table and out of sight, settles it on her lap palm up to avoid touching where it is still so very tender, “it’s fine - it’s just a scratch.”

Robin clears his throat, but before he can say anything Granny is there, placing two plates of waffles down in front of the Locksleys, Roland’s with cut up banana and Robin’s with bacon and eggs. A third plate, this time with pancakes and caramelised apple slices is put in front of her.

“I didn’t order this.”

“No,” Granny says, gruff as always, “you didn’t, but coffee is not an adequate breakfast.” She throws a pointed look at where Regina’s dress sits a little too big around her waist. “So eat, and then clean up that hand properly.” She dumps a faded first aid box on the edge of the table, stares Regina down for a few more minutes and then walks back to the kitchen muttering under her breath.

Roland is gleefully smothering his waffles in maple syrup, Robin rolls his eyes and reaches over to halt the steady stream of sugar. “That’s probably more than enough, my boy.” There’s a moment of silence as father and son stare at each other, each waiting for the other to cave, before Roland scrunches up his nose and gives in. The whole time Regina just watches, silent and terribly confused as to what is happening. She thinks if she were less disorientated by her lack of memories, ( _by her lack of child_ Mother’s voice whispers) and the very little amount of sleep she has been getting when her brain decides to let her body behave normally, she would have left the moment Robin sat down. Would have left as soon as she knew Roland was once again in the company of his father and not wandering around getting into trouble.  

She jerks back into the present when her right hand gives a twitch and pain grips her arm. Biting down on the inside of her cheek, Regina picks up her fork with her left hand, uses the side of it to break apart the pancakes and wonders how much she’ll have to eat to avoid a lecture from Granny. She doesn’t see Robin looking at her like she’s a puzzle to be solved, eyes focused on where she’s picking apart the food she has no real appetite for. She manages a few mouthfuls in between moving food around the plate, mirroring things she would do as a teenager to make her father believe she’d eaten more than she actually had.

Roland finishes his waffles, sticky syrup all over his face when Regina looks up after feeling his eyes on her. On her plate more specifically, head tilted to the side and eyes flickering between her, his father and the pancakes.

“You know,” she starts, biting back a small smile, “Granny always makes far too many pancakes for me to eat. It really is becoming a problem, it’s such a waste of food.”

“Huh?” Roland is looking directly at her now, a tiny crease between his eyebrows as he tries to work out what she means. She resolutely does not look at Robin; she can see the shrewd look from the corner of her eye, knows he is aware of what she’s doing but doesn’t want or need to know if he can tell _why._

“Well you see, Roland, I have never been able to eat all of these on my own,” she gestures to the still pretty much full plate with her fork, “and they are just so tasty that it seems silly for Granny to make _so many_ just for me!” She frowns, feigns sadness and sighs, “It would be really helpful if I knew someone who liked them so they could help me eat them.”

“I can do that!”

“Roland,” Robin hushes his excited shout, raises his eyebrows at him, stern but clearly amused.

“Sorry.” Roland fiddles with his fingers as he glances back up at her, eyes shy under his mop of unruly curls and her heart melts a little bit. “I - I can try them an’, an’ see if I like ‘em? Then I can help!” His words slur together ever so slightly in his eagerness.

Regina bites back a grin, widens her eyes and gasps, “That is the best idea anyone has had in _forever_ , Sir Roland of Locksley.” Roland blushes, beyond pleased with how she addresses him, and gives an odd little giggle-mutter hybrid of how he’s _not a Sir, Regina! That’s what Knights are called!_

She grins back, cuts up the pancakes and chunks of apple a little neater before pushing the plate towards him, “And here was me thinking you were, quite clearly, a Knight in shining armour!” Her eyes drift towards Robin for a second, unsure if the calculating look is something to worry about, decides it’s far too early to find out anyway and starts to gather up her things. “You should save some for your papa, Sir Roland,” she says standing from the booth, her coat hangs over injured hand, hiding the bandages that she will change when she gets home even if Granny’s no doubt fully stocked kit is right there.

She throws more than enough money on the table to cover all three breakfasts, straightens her spine, and, head up high but never once looking at anyone, Regina exits the diner. She pauses when she gets outside and takes a deep breath; she can go home without feeling too much like a hermit now.

The door chimes behind her as she reaches the sidewalk, and she doesn’t take much notice of until the outlaw is calling after to wait. Hesitating, she keeps her back to him, knowing full well she doesn’t have the energy to magic herself away, and reluctant to leave her car only to have to come back and get it later. He catches up in the few seconds she debates what to do.

“Milady,” he moves as if he’s going to touch her arm but holds back when she flinches, an involuntary reaction she has never really been able to stop, no matter how hard she tries. “I just wanted to thank you.”

Regina frowns, confused. “Why?”

He tilts his head a fraction, so much like his boy just did in the diner that Regina is sure while Roland clearly looks like his mother, he is all Robin’s son. “Because you allowed my boy to sit with you and kept an eye on him after realising he was alone...” He looks bemused. “Not many people would have done that; they would have sent him to the counter and forgotten about it. You didn’t, you also talked to him like what he said mattered…” He trails off, a more understanding look settling over his features. “You have the touch of a mother.”

And fuck if that doesn’t send a sharp stabbing pain straight through her black heart. Because she doesn’t _know_ if she is a mother anymore. How can she be? Henry is god only knows where with no memory of her. No idea about all the times they would make a tent out of her bed sheets on stormy nights. Has no memory of _one more story, Mommy, then I’ll go to sleep!_ But she does. She does and it’s killing her from the inside out because she doesn’t know how in the hell she is meant to deal with any of this.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” She can feel him looking at her, knows he can see her struggling to keep herself together. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to say thank you - that boy has a habit of sneaking off that I’ve had no luck in breaking just yet. So thank you, for keeping him company and making sure he didn’t get into trouble.” He turns to leave, stops, turns back and says, “If you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask,” and goes back inside.

Regina makes it home before she breaks.

* * *

 

She all but retreats again after that. Only really ventures out to get the bare minimum of food, occasionally goes to her office when she can no longer stand the four walls of the one in her home. On rare days she manages to talk herself into going to Granny’s and getting her coffee. Sometimes it’s to go but on other occasions she lets Granny strongarm her into staying.

On those days Granny will join her at the counter or back table, sits down with a huff and her own drink, offering the same reasoning each time: “I need to sit and breathe for moment; there’s more customers here than usual with this new curse.”

Regina never thinks too hard about the looks Granny has started giving her, the grumbling every time she orders coffee and no food; she thinks that if she does it’ll confuse her even more than it already does. Because Granny has always had an odd way of almost… looking out for her. In the years before she adopted Henry, though she’d never remember it, every few days Granny would slam down a plate of food, usually apple pancakes, say “That coffee alone is not enough to keep you going all day, Madam Mayor,” and walk away refusing to take the plate back.

In the days after Henry she would offer bits of advice. First it was with colic, and spit up, and “Don’t worry so much, babies are resilient. Don’t panic until there is a reason to, Regina, he looks like a happy boy to me.” Later it was tips on helping her little prince with teething and offers to keep an eye on him when she couldn’t rearrange a town meeting.

It’s disconcerting, the gruff manner in which Granny cares. Even when the damn curse broke and everyone remembered who they were, who she _was_ , Granny would never refuse to serve her, still slammed a plate of apple pancakes down after weeks of Regina only ordering coffee that would grow cold and untouched. It’s disconcerting and honestly, Regina has no fucking clue how to deal with it, so she doesn’t. She ignores it, shifts uncomfortably any time she’s shown any degree of care and refuses to dig too deep into it all.

A china coffee cup is placed in front her, pulling her out of her morose thoughts as Granny raises one eyebrow at her when she goes to open her mouth, daring her to ask for a to go cup instead. Turning around to find an at least semi-secluded table for them, bemused smile playing at her lips it takes a few moments for brain to register what she’s seeing. _Who_ she is seeing. Her cup crashes to the floor, scalding coffee splashing up her legs and she has a fleeting hysterical thought that _Mother would be so angry, you can’t even carry a cup properly,_ before all she can think is _he doesn’t recognise me._

She stands there frozen for a moment too long, and Henry is looking at her, confused as to why she can’t stop staring at him. Somehow she manages to stutter out an apology, her heart breaks even more when he says “It’s alright,” because his voice is different. It’s starting to get deeper, and _fuck_ her little boy probably isn’t all that little anymore if he were to stand. Emma is there, standing up and moving towards her, slow and cautious like approaching a cornered animal and all of the sudden she realises that right now he _isn’t_ her little boy at all. He’s Emma’s and has no idea who the hell she even is.

It doesn’t take much for Emma to convince her to move. Just a soft, “C’mon,” with a hand on her elbow and she lets herself be herded towards the back corridor. She’s not even really there, she’s a million miles away remembering the first time he called her _mama_ grinning at her with gappy newly grown teeth while she stood frozen and staring at him. It is both the same and completely fucking different this time. She’s still bowled over, but this time she doesn’t snap back to herself, swing him up into her arms to hear it again through babbling and shrill giggles.

No, this time she drowns.

Her eyes flood with tears that she somehow keeps from falling, her hands shake for reasons other than her fried nerve endings for once, and she can’t breathe.

“He looked right _through_ me,” she whispers, and when Emma confirms that he doesn't remember her, something she knew but never really wanted to have proven to her, she feels something inside her break. There is a very small part of her that marvels there was something left to break at all.

Regina can’t tell if Emma believes her, can’t get a read on what her so called super power is telling her when she says “I didn’t cast this curse,” when she rips her own heart apart some more by bringing up Henry. Because surely Emma knows if she wanted Henry back it would not be like this.

“So what now, you’re going to use your super-power on everyone in town?”

Emma shrugs, “You got a better idea?”

They stand in silence for a moment, Regina still shaking, with her arms crossed in front of her as if she could keep herself together that way. “Maybe.”

* * *

It goes pretty much exactly how she expected it to. Within seconds the town is clamoring over each other at the thought that maybe she _had_ done this. So much so that she starts to think they had only kept their mouths shut to avoid upsetting a heavily pregnant Snow White, not because they actually believed she had nothing to do with it.

But then Emma is looking at her like she can see right past every wall she has, is saying “With you, Regina? I always know when you’re lying and right now you’re not.” And she thinks that maybe, just maybe she has someone on her side again.

It takes three attempts to replicate the memory potion before there’s none left. Three attempts and she still doesn’t remember a damn thing.

“Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way,” Emma says, eyeing the potion kit and frowning. “Maybe we can still catch them…”

Rolling her eyes, Regina turns to face her. “Haven’t you been paying attention?” She gestures to the table, hands jerky in their movements. “I used up all the potion; there is _nothing_ left to replicate.”

Emma shakes her head, looks up at her with wheels turning over behind her eyes. “I don’t think you need to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… we’ve been running a con right? By making all of this in secret…” She trails off, looks back towards the tiny blue bottle that shouldn’t, as an inanimate object, cause Regina to feel this much hate. “What if it’s the wrong con?”

Regina blinks, “I - I don’t… I’m sorry but I’m not exactly well versed in cons. Unlike you I never spent time in prison.” She can’t quite resist the dig, even though it’s not strictly true; she’s spent time locked up, awaiting her staged execution but she doesn’t really consider that prison… it wasn’t institutionalised.

“It’s not something I picked up in prison,” Emma rolls her eyes, “it’s a bailbonds trick. Smoke out the perp by making them think you’re onto them.” When Regina still looks unsure she carries on, “Think about it, if the _real_ person behind this thought we were _about_ to make a memory potion that would work…”

“They’d want to stop us.”

Emma grins up at her, “And we’d know who they are.”

It takes no time at all for word to spread; Emma lets it slip in front of Leroy under the pretense of telling David over the phone. But it feels like they’ve been sitting in Emma’s bug for too long. A glance at the clock tells Regina it’s been close to three hours.

“Are you sure you don’t want to meet him?” Emma turns to face her, an earnest look in her eyes. “We could tell him… we could say you’re an old friend?”

The mere thought of seeing Henry, of having to be introduced to the same person who used to beg her to let him help make cookies, and then giggle hysterically while making the biggest mess possible is too much, too painful. “No,” she says, voice cracking slightly. “It’d be too hard.”

“Okay,” Emma says frowning. “If you change your mind at all, I mean I can’t even imag… Regina, look.” She points to the window of Regina’s office where a shadow is moving, “We got them.”

Her bloodlock didn’t hold. She is the last member of her family still alive and someone just broke through her bloodlock, something that should not be possible. Which means this is much, much worse than anyone anticipated because not even The Dark One could break through blood magic.

* * *

 

_It was nice meeting you._

She’s been home for hours now and it’s still bouncing around inside her head. She still feels her heart clenching at the handshake he’d offered her. Her breath still catches every time she plays it over, and over, and over again in her mind. She’s torturing herself and there’s not a single thing she can do to stop it.

Just before she’d left Emma had suggested that Henry let Regina take him on the tour of the town tomorrow. Mentioned that she needed to follow up on a few things for her case and the second she started to say, “Or you can always hang out here…” he’d jumped at it. And despite how the thought of getting through tomorrow without Henry noticing how much of a mess Regina is right now makes her feel queasy, she’d jumped at it too.

Photo albums, Henry’s baby book, and dozens of crayon scribbled drawings surround her where she sits crossed legged, in her pyjamas and thick knitted cardigan on his bed. That critical, cynical little voice that never stops sounding like Cora scoffs at the tears that insist on trickling down her cheeks. Spits that she’s _pathetic, pull yourself together,_ reminds her that love is weakness and where did she think she would end up adopting a baby? Certainly not happy? _You don’t deserve happy._

She handles each page, each stickman masterpiece like it is made of paper thin glass. One wrong move could shatter it all, and though her entire body has been jerking on and off since before she made it home, Regina is glad that that’s all that has been happening. The fact that she has been reduced to being grateful that she’s been shaking, twitching and losing momentary control of a body part for hours because at least she hasn’t had to face a full-blown seizure should piss her off. It really should. But all it does is add to the exhaustion she’s felt since waking up here again.

So she ignores it; if she hasn’t slipped into a seizure yet tonight, chances are very high that she won’t. It’s safe to ignore, safe to handle the pages of memories in her lap as if they are made of butterfly wings, safe because if she sticks to barely touching them she won’t ruin everything when her hand inevitably spasms. She just needs to get as much of the pain out of her system as possible if she’s meant to act like an old family friend around her own fucking son tomorrow. And ignoring her glaring medical issues is almost too easy to do when there’s no one at home to witness anything, no one sitting at the dining room table in a high chair munching on dinner and asking _Mommy eat too?_

She wakes up on top of the covers on Henry’s bed, shivering slightly and surrounded by still open photo albums, eyes tight and crusted over with dried tears and sleep. Leaving the albums and drawings where they are, Regina forces herself into her own room to get ready for the day.

 _You can do this,_ she tells herself as she stares at her fogged reflection in the ensuite mirror. _You are a fucking Queen; you can do this._

It takes seeing Henry, hearing him say, “Morning Madam Mayor!” for her resolve to weaken, for Cora’s voice to slip back in, for her to take a deep, steadying breath and draw on every ounce of acting she has used from the day she was fitted for her wedding gown.

_You have to do this._

* * *

Regina volunteers, because honestly, she is going mad not doing anything. She treasures any time spent with Henry, but all it does is cut too deep when she has to remind herself that he doesn’t know who she is, not really. The only way she can see a chance of being able to breathe again is if everyone gets their memory back, which means finding out who the hell this bitch is and that means driving out to the edges of town.

It’s in the middle of nowhere, and really, Regina thinks she shouldn’t be all that surprised. It’s practically part of the villain’s playbook; have a disturbing house far away from anywhere in order to plot without interruption. She had the Dark Palace; this Wicked Bitch has… a rickety old farmhouse that looks like a strong wind would knock it down. But then again, she is from Oz and from what Regina can remember about the movie, a crotchety old farmhouse probably makes the most sense.

Shivering, she climbs out of her car, crosses her fingers that the place is as empty as it looks (she really does not have the patience to deal with anything more than this today) and moves down the path. A muffled noise from behind where she'd parked draws her attention. She curses internally, _this better be over quickly,_ and turns, hand curled and ready to fight fire with fire.

“Show yourself, you winged freak.”

Jerking back she catches the arrow and glares at where Robin Hood is sheepishly raising a hand, “Apologies milady, I thought you were the wicked witch.”

Rolling her eyes Regina turns more to face him, “I thought you were a flying monkey.”

He smirks at her. “I hope my mistake hasn’t cost me my head.”

Raising an eyebrow she says “You’re safe for now, _thief,_ ” and drops the arrow into his open palm.

Robin, for his part, looks delighted at the dig. “Ahh, I see we’re tossing labels around. Correct me if I’m wrong, but… aren’t you technically known as the Evil Queen?”

 _She’s not my mom - she’s the Evil Queen!_ “I prefer Regina.” He nods in acknowledgement and she very nearly smiles at how easy that was. No look of disbelief, no _but you are the Evil Queen,_ just acceptance that he is allowed to call her by her given name.

Clearing her throat, she looks down at the crossbow in his hands, “What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”

Robin takes the arrow back. “I thought I may as well have a look around, see if there was anything worth finding.” He grins at her and her stomach _does not_ swoop over a man who doesn’t look at her with fear or loathing. “There is also the added bonus of getting a shot at her if the moment should arise.”

“You really think sharpened sticks will work against the Wicked Witch?”

“Can’t hurt to try.”

“I can say with utmost confidence that the arrows wouldn’t faze her, and you would more than likely end up dead,” she says.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sounded concerned just then.”

Regina scoffs, threatens herself if she so much as tinges pink and glares at him. “I would say that you do know better, but honestly? I find it very hard to believe that you know much of anything.”

For his part, he somehow smiles wider at her, like he’s enjoying being insulted and _Christ_ this man is confusing her and she’s never really had a true conversation with him. He places a hand over his heart and pouts, a near perfect imitation of his son. “You wound me, milady.”

He says more as he moves towards the house but she’s too busy floundering to pay much attention, a little bit shell-shocked that, once again, he doesn’t seem to care about who she is but (if she’s honest) she’s quite pleased that he doesn’t. And damn if that doesn’t throw her off balance entirely.

The house is relatively empty both in decor and hints of what this witch is planning. But then again Regina wasn’t expecting this to be easy no matter how wonderful that would have been.

Robin glances around the nearly barren living room with a look she can’t quite place. “I’ll be perfectly honest, though I have no idea what _would_ be a magical object, or trace of magic, I’m fairly certain it won’t be found in here.” Nodding, Regina follows him through to the kitchen, and she absolutely does not look when he leans forward slightly to place his crossbow on top of the rusted stove top. “Perhaps we might have better luck in here?”

“Maybe,” she says, but it isn’t long before she starts to realise that they probably won’t. Not in here at least. She picks up one of the jars sat on the table, gives it a cursory look over before discarding it and choosing another. “Nothing useful here,” she says as she shakes this jar to make sure; the scent leaks out of where it’s not quite tight enough… oregano.

“What, so none of these are magical?” Robin waves towards the cabinet behind, shelves housing all manner of jars, pots and bottles.

“Well,” she chews at the inside of her lip, a habit mother is most likely turning in her grave at, and moves past him to have another look, “potentially. A good witch covers her tracks,” and because she can’t quite resist it, can’t quite ignore the way she _knows_ he’s been looking at her, Regina leans into him slightly as she passes to add, “but a better one can uncover them. She won’t stay hidden forever; we’ll find her, just be patient.” She moves a few glass bottles around, finds most of them to be herbs, oils and a whole host of items she has in her own kitchen but nothing overtly magical just yet.

Robin shifts around behind her, and normally she hates having her back to someone, even around people she knows it sends shivers of unease down her spine, but there’s something about this thief that she trusts implicitly, trusts with her whole being despite this being her second time in his presence.

“You know,” he starts, voice almost deliberately light and she forces herself to keep her eyes forward instead of flicking over her shoulder to find his, “I’ve heard many stories about you, about the great and terrible Evil Queen,” she tenses a little at that, “but from this angle… well, let’s just say that the ‘evil’ moniker seems somewhat of an overstatement. Especially when you’re sharing your breakfast with my boy.” She bites her lip, feels a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth when he adds, “Bold and audacious maybe, but certainly not evil…”

That makes her turn around. “The name served me well. Fear is… quite an effective tool.”

He moves towards her, a look she can’t quite place in his eyes and for one heart stopping second when he reaches past her to grab a bottle of whiskey, Regina thinks he might kiss her. And it makes her head spin, because she’s not entirely confident that she would hate it. All she can think as she explains the alcohol, as they flirt ( _how in hell can he flirt while asking if it’s magical?)_ over a bottle of bottom shelf scotch is that forest smells quite wonderful on him.

But then Robin is rolling up his sleeves and offering her a drink and there’s a lion tattoo that is burned into her memory from a lifetime ago. A vice grip forms around her lungs and all she can think of is how last time she wasn’t ready, wasn’t ready to face what meeting him would, _could_ , have meant. So she does exactly what she did all those years ago.

She runs.

* * *

 

She doesn’t make it home. Ends up pulling her car over a few minutes into the drive, barely has the parking brake on before she can feel the panic gripping at her. Because it’s him, she knows exactly what that tattoo looks like even though she only glimpsed it for mere minutes before she was tearing away from a tavern door with panic choking her.

The same panic that’s clawing its way up from her lungs and wrapping its hands around her neck.

 _Oh God, shit shit shit, he’s here, he’s here_ and she can’t breathe. She could handle the thought that she would no doubt ruin whatever image Robin has in his head about her one day down the line. Possibly soon than later ( _definitely sooner than later; everything you touch turns to dust),_ but at least she hadn’t already ruined everything for them before. He was someone new, someone she hadn’t screwed over, or if she had there was no hint of a grudge being held (he certainly doesn’t seem bitter about the wanted posters she posted on behalf of King George), but no.

She cannot handle the fact that he was probably one of the first people she ruined as she spun out of control towards rock bottom.

_You never have been able to do anything right, have you my darling?_

It’s not even just Cora’s voice anymore. That critical, hurtful, _spiteful_ part of her sounds like everyone from her past. It’s mother, and her governess, and the King. It’s members of the royal staff who never helped when she was locked in her rooms or limping, bleeding and slamming at loose balcony railings. It’s every single Noble who was condescending while her husband was still alive, and the ones who would whisper about her at court.

Worst of all, it sounds like herself.

Regina is crying by the time the panic attack starts to ease off. Her skull has a pulse she can feel thudding away, her eyes are fuzzy at the edges (she can not tell if it’s from the tears or panic) and she can feel one of  her thighs twitching. She has a moment where she debates the risks of driving home versus having a seizure, but the tingling is spreading down her arms now and she knows she has a better chance of crashing her car than making it home safely.

She shoves her seat back as far as it’ll go to give herself more room, manages to lower the back of it a little and crosses her fingers that no one drives past and sees before her body starts vibrating. It’s not a long one; by all accounts it’s actually one of the better ones she’s ever had though it still terrifies her and leaves her wanting to curl up into a ball and sleep for a year. It certainly hasn’t helped with her headache.

She must doze off for moment or two; she refuses to admit it’s more likely that she passed out, because her phone lets out a piercing ring that yanks her back into consciousness so abruptly that she cracks her head on the window.

 _“Fuck!”_ She scrabbles for her purse, hands still uncoordinated as she pulls out her cell and squints at it before answering, desperate to stop the ringing. “Yes?”

“Neal’s dead.” Emma’s voice cracks halfway through getting his name out, “It-it was Zelena… is there a protection spell or something you can do for Mary Margaret?”

Regina blinks, unsure what to say about Neal, unsure if it’s even her place to offer any condolences or how she would go about doing that. She decides to focus on what she _can_ do instead. “I’ll be right over. It won’t be perfect; the only foolproof protection spell I know is using blood magic, and as we know blood magic…”

“Right, yeah… not exactly foolproof.”

“No, but I can do something in the meantime while I work on something else, something more impenetrable.” She might not be able to stop her muscle infrastructure from rebelling on a  daily basis but she can do this. “Miss Swan,” she says when Emma starts to say bye, “ _Emma…_ we’ll get her; she won’t get away with it.”

Hanging up Regina takes a deep, shuddering breath, decides against driving and uses magic to erase evidence of her - _episode -_ and gets herself to the loft within minutes of Emma’s mumbled _see you in a little bit._

Regina erects an almost-shield around the loft. She promises Charming that it’ll keep out the worst danger until she can work out something more stable, prays that she’s not made out to be liar and waves off Snow’s concerned look when she sways on her feet after casting it. She says she hasn’t really eaten today, not a lie in the slightest, and uses magic to get herself back to her car all while saying “I’ll go get food and have a look at a better protection spell.”

She doesn’t end up in her car. Overshoots the landing slightly with how disorientated she feels using that much magic after a panic attack and seizure. She winds up in the forest somewhere, not too far from one of the trails that she vaguely recognises. _Please let the car be close._

Stubbornness stops her from picking a stump, log or patch of dirt to sit on and wait for her lightheadedness to pass. Instead she picks a direction she hopes is the right one, but she can’t quite make her brain cooperate enough to be sure, and starts walking. It’s not until she stumbles across the edge of a clearing and sees Robin, a collection of his so called Merry Men and little Roland all engaged in some kind of game the boy has no doubt made up that she realises she’s wandered further away from the car. She’s not entirely sure what they’re meant to be playing but Roland is darting around and stopping every now and again to shoot a pretend bow and arrow with his father or one of his loyal babysitters. The sound of his giggles when Robin scoops him up, high off the ground and pretends to take a bite out of him sends a sharp twist through her gut.

She doesn't even realise that most of the Merry Men have started to wander off, leaving father and son to themselves until a delighted shriek of “REGINA!” reaches her ears and a tiny body is crashing into her legs.

“Hello there.” She forces a smile as she looks down to where Roland is hugging her knees and beaming up at her.

“We was playing Sheriffs and Ou’laws! Papa let me be him and he was the mean Sheriff!”

Her smile becomes less forced at that, a small laugh bubbling up her throat at how pleased he is. She ignores how feeble her legs feel and squats down to his eye level, hands cupping his own mitten covered ones, “It certainly looked like you were having lots of fun.” Regina drops her voice to an almost whisper, grinning more when Roland widens his eyes and leans in to her, and adds “I think you’re a much better outlaw than your papa.”

Roland giggles, cheeks flushing with delight and says, “But he’s the best!”

She can feel Robin’s presence where he has moved closer, just a few feet behind his son now but she ignores him and keeps her eyes on Roland. “Not so. You, Sir Roland, are far superior.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means, my dear Sir, that I think you were _much_ better.”

He blushes brighter when she taps his nose with her finger, ducks his head to watch his foot kick at the dirt and mumbles, “Not a Sir, that’s what Knights are called!” like he did the other day in the diner.

At that Regina laughs, because this tiny little boy is by far one of the more noble men she’s ever met and he’s definitely more deserving of a Knight's title than any she met as Queen. “And why can’t I call you Sir?”

“M’not a Knight, remember?”

“Well, I am a Queen, and do you know what that means?” He shakes his head, eyes now back on her face and his own still pink-tinged. “It means that I get to say who is and isn’t a Knight, and you, sweet boy, are more deserving than any of the Knights in my Queensguard ever were. So yes, _Sir Roland_ ,” she tickles under his chin when she says that, feels some of the burn from the shitstorm of her day ease a little when he giggles. “You are most definitely a Knight. An extremely brave one too, to take on that mean Sheriff and protect the kingdom.”

Roland looks almost beside himself with joy as he throws himself towards her, arms wrapping around her neck as he mumbles “I’ll be the bestest Knight ever!” into her hair before he darts back to where his father is watching them with a soft, barely hidden smile of his own. “Papa, did’ya hear? I’m a Knight!”

“I did hear,” Robin says as he swoops his son onto his hip, eyes flicking over to her as she rises and stands there not knowing whether she should stay. Roland whispers something to him that she doesn’t hear, before he’s wriggling until Robin puts him back down and darting over to just in front of Regina.

“Um, would you like to see my tent, Regina?” He shuffles his feet, fingers twisting together as his eyes dart from the forest floor to hers. She can remember Henry doing something similar when he was a toddler, the first time Granny came over to their house to babysit instead of keeping him at the diner or B&B. She remembers how much of a Big Deal it was to him that Granny liked his room, remembers watching from his doorway as he agonised to his stuffed toys about if she would think his room was a big boy one or not.

Glancing over to Robin she sees him watching Roland with a soft smile, and he clearly doesn’t mind so she nods, twines their fingers together when Roland shrieks in delight and grabs her hand, pulling her towards where the camp must be. They walk in silence for a few moments before Roland stops tugging her along when he spots a large branch and declares it his sword. He skips a few steps ahead of them, swishing it back and forth as he informs them that he's making sure there are no enemies along the way, his chest all puffed up with how proud he is.

“I hope I didn't do anything to upset you, Regina?” Robin has moved closer to her, feet moving silent and effortless across the ground.

“What?” And God, has it really only been a couple of hours, if that, since she was bolting from Zelena’s kitchen? From him? “Oh! No, you didn't. I thought I saw something outside - I wanted to follow up on it… in case it was a clue.”

He doesn’t believe her, it’s quite obvious in the rise of his brow, but he nods and lets her cling to the flimsy excuse. “And was it?”

“We know who she is.” She doesn’t mention that that is only because of Gold and Neal and Emma. “Zelena. She was posing as Snow and Charming’s midwife… and has apparently been keeping Rumplestiltskin locked in a storm cellar as a pet.”

“What’s a midwife?” Roland is back in front of them now, his ‘sword’ still held firm in his hand.

“They help babies get born,” she says. “And Snow White has a baby in her belly, so the midwife is there to help when he decides to come out.”

“Oh.” Roland turns away from them to swish his sword at an imaginary foe before facing them again, head tilted and nose scrunched, and says, “How’d the baby get in her belly?”

There’s a choking noise beside her and suddenly Robin is saying “Roland, we’re nearly at the camp. Why don’t you run ahead and make sure it’s fit for the Queen?” He looks like he might argue for a moment but when his father adds on, “We wouldn’t want there to be nowhere for Regina to sit if Alan has left his clothes out to dry on everything again, would we?” Roland gasps and tears off ahead of them, weaving through trees and undergrowth, uncaring of tripping hazards and fearless in a way only children can be.

She waits until he’s far enough ahead to be out of earshot before saying “That was mean.”

“That was necessary,” he counters, raising a hand to scrub at his face. “I am not ready for him to learn about babies and where they come from.”

Regina laughs, “It won’t get any less awkward the older he gets - you can trust me on that one.” She can remember Henry being six and sneaking downstairs while she watched TV one night and not knowing until his little voice was suddenly next to the arm of the sofa asking _Mommy, what’s sex?_

Robin frowns over at her, “That may be, but at least it gives me more time to prepare.” When she keeps laughing at him, he smiles back. “Are you enjoying my struggles?”

“Yes,” she admits, still chuckling and _god when was the last time she laughed?_ “I am. It’s refreshing to see another parent go through this.” Her smile takes on a sly edge, ever so slightly reminiscent of her Evil Queen days. “It gets worse.” For some reason the way Robin is looking at her (one eyebrow raised in question, head tilted exactly like Roland’s was and a half smile on his face) makes her say, “Henry asked me what sex was when he was about six. I ended up telling him it was a special hug that grown ups did when they really loved each other… and when he started to ask even more awkward questions, thanks to being babysat by Granny when Ruby was home, I distracted him with sweets and cartoons.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t been here long enough to know what ‘cartoons’ are…”

Regina bites her lip, trying to work out how to explain it. “It’s like being able to watch a story, but it’s been drawn.” There’s a blank look on his face, “That didn’t make much sense, did it?”

“You mean like the pictures in a book?”

“A little bit - the pictures move.” She grins at the baffled look on his face, wonders what he would say if she invited him and Roland over to watch _The Simpsons_ or one of Henry’s many, many DVDs and videos. She almost does just that before shoving her hands deep into her coat pockets and staring ahead at where she can see Roland fidgeting at the edge of a clearing, impatient for the grown ups to catch up. It almost looks like he’s dancing.

The second they are close enough he darts forward, pulls one of her hands from its pocket to wrap his fingers around hers, “The camp’s ready now, Regina, d’you still wanna see my tent?”

“Absolutely.”

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long for Roland to tire himself out. He falls asleep slumped in a camping chair by the fire, the stuffed monkey he tells her he can’t remember getting but loves all the same clasped tight in his arms. And he both doesn’t look like Henry, and is the spitting image of her son all the same that her heart jolts whenever she looks at him. But he is so earnest in his requests that she play with him, or read to him from one of the many books he’s begged his father or one of the men to gift him from the library, or tell him about tales of this world that she never once entertains saying no to him. Judging by how enamored this camp of forest dwellers are with him, she very much doubts he hears that word all too often.

She is still next to him, canvas chairs so close they are almost on top of one another (Roland had dragged his closer to her for dinner before abandoning it to clamber into her lap, only returning when Robin gently reminded him that _Regina needs to eat too, son_ ,), and the temptation to card her fingers through the mess of curls falling into his face is too strong to ignore.

“Thank you.” Robin sits down next to her on a log doubling as a bench and watches as she tucks the blanket Tuck had thrown over the sleeping boy tighter around his tiny body.

“What for?”

“The way you are with him,” he says quietly. “He’s never really had much female attention before. Mulan was only with us for a short time, though I don’t really recall her leaving, I assume it was in the missing year. I knew she wouldn’t stay for long, she was still looking for something and we weren’t it.” He shifts, elbows resting on his knees with a steaming mug of tea cradled between his hands. “Roland loved having her around, but he wasn’t as attached to her as he is to you.”

Regina frowns, eyes firmly glued to where Roland is twisted in the chair and somehow still dead to the world.

“I’m glad,” Robin says eventually. And when she turns to look at him his gaze is on her now, unmoving and sure, and something in her stomach swoops. “I’m glad that he’s bonded with you.”

She snorts, tries to brush off the squirmy feeling in her veins and fights down the blush she just knows is close to the surface. “You want your son spending quality time with the Evil Queen?”

He smiles at her, like she’s missed the point completely. “You’re not the Evil Queen anymore, Regina.”

* * *

She doesn’t see him for two days, busy as she is with helping the Charmings plan Neal’s funeral. Regina could feel his eyes on her throughout the service, and a large part of her found it comforting, but the other part was screaming at herself for _not_ hating it. Any time she finds him looking at her, feels his eyes on her around town or in the moments they’ve spent together, she wonders if her skin should be crawling. If she should be wanting to disappear into the background like she spent so many years doing while married to her pig of a husband. She manages to avoid him until part way through the wake, and even then she ducks his questions about why she left their camp with such a flimsy excuse by introducing him to Tinkerbelle.

The fairy frowns at her when he’s not paying attention and accepts the third drink he’d ordered before coming over to them. She tells him she doesn’t daydrink, and while that’s not really a lie (she doesn’t always, but she would love one after watching Henry retreat into himself since the funeral) her hands have been shaking on and off since this morning and she really doesn’t want the sloshing liquid to draw attention to it.

Regina leaves shortly after Zelena crashes the wake claiming to be her sister. She’s not shocked by how quickly everyone assumed she’d done something to bring this upon herself, but it still stings. So when Emma and Snow find her in the vault and she begins to feel suffocated she leaves. Stuffs the letter into her pocket, tells them she has it handled - _nothing about your life is handled, you silly girl_ \- and moves towards the stairs as quick as she can without actually running.

Robin finds her an hour later, sat on a fallen tree and reading the letter for the sixth time. She hadn’t see him for two days, but she’s seen him several times in one day and when he gives her that look, says “Well, for one thing I’d be charred to a crisp right now if you didn’t,” and asks to read it, she lets him. Because he’s right. He’s known her all of a couple of weeks and he has gotten closer to her than anyone. Even Emma and her infuriating family push when they should back off, or back off when pushing would work.

Her hands are still shaking in her lap while he waits for her finish speaking, and when she tells him she can’t win this fight he says, “And yet you’re still going to fight.”

He’s right, of course he’s right; she meant what she told Snow, this is her fight, she has it under control. But god she wishes she didn’t have to fight. Wants more than anything to just curl up under the thick covers of her bed for an age and just _sleep_ , sleep until her memories come back, until Henry remembers her again and until her fucking hands _stop fucking shaking_ all the time. “Yes, I’m still going to fight.”

“Why?” he asks softly, not accusing, merely curious to hear her reasoning behind going into a fight she’s extremely positive she won’t be walking away from.

 _Because it’s the right thing to do_ she thinks, _because Henry would want me to, because I can’t let her hurt everyone._ All of them pop into her head, and anyone would make perfect sense but instead she takes a deep breath, feels the cold air sting her lungs and stutter out of her as she squeezes her hands tighter together. “Because it’s all I know how to do.”

“Okay,” he says, “then let me help you.”

And despite every fibre of her being screaming at her to stay away from him, to stop before she ruins him like she does everything else, to make him leave and take his precious little boy with him so they’ll be safe away from her and the destruction that is never far behind, she can’t bring herself to voice any of it.

“Alright,” she says instead.

* * *

It’s still there. Red streaked with black and beating in his hands. She has always thought it ugly to look at, since the very first moment Rumplestiltskin ripped it from her chest in a lesson, only a vivid red back then, and squeezed to teach her how it felt, but Robin is holding it like it’s made of spun sugar. Delicate and as if one wrong twitch of his fingers would cause severe damage. Like she hadn’t already put the battered organ through the ringer, ruined it beyond all hope, long before she was pressing it into his hands and asking him to hide it.

Regina does the same now, places her ugly, blackened heart into a drawstring pouch and then into his hands. Literally puts her life in the hands of her soulmate and not once does she feel anything but certain that he will fight tooth and nail to keep it safe. He frowns at her when she does, and she teases him about not being able to steal it when it’s being given to him willingly, prays to every known God in both her worlds that he doesn’t notice how her fingers jerk.

“You still owe me that drink,” he says as she walks away, concentrating so hard on keeping steady that it takes her a few seconds to respond.

“Yes, I suppose I do,” she flirts back, because they are definitely flirting again. And for all the voice of Cora is screaming that she’s a waste of space, that she’s acting like a child and not the queen she was raised to be, Regina can’t bring herself to stop.

It’s been such a long time since she felt like she could act this way around another person. Since she was comfortable enough to flirt back. Since Mal and her early, _early_ twenties and even then Mal learnt the boundaries of what was okay and what was too similar to the words, the actions, of her husband quickly. They were never really sure what would send her into a tailspin of panic and fear, and what would make her blush back when she still had an ounce of naivety left. With Robin there is a very small part of her that feels like that stupid, young girl blushing every damn time Maleficent would press a kiss into her skin, and deep down she loves it. She loves how he makes her feel even as it terrifies her down to her very bones.

Regina is still grinning, lip bit and cheeks flushed from more than just the chill in the night air, when she stumbles and has to shoot an unsteady hand out to find purchase on the nearest tree trunk.

“Regina?” He’s by her side in a blink, close enough to touch her if needed but never once invading her space.

“I- I’m fine,” she insists, cursing her brain’s lack of tactful timing as well as Zelena and her need for theatrics. _Deep breath,_ she tells herself and her fingertips dig into rough bark, _breathe through it and smile; everything is fine._ “I uh… I just tripped on something…” She trails off, hopes she comes across nonchalant and he buys that she tripped and needs a second. _She needs more than a second._

“You are shaking, milady.” And he’s right, it’s getting to the point where she can’t really hide the tremors wracking her frame. That and the tree she’s currently leaning against is quite clearly the only thing holding her up right now. Turns out being thrown into a car, then choked and then thrown through a clock tower isn’t good for someone with nerve and tissue damage. She lets out a hysterical laugh and jerks her head in a rough nod.

“Can I help?”

And she should not say yes, she should lie and tell him she’s fine. Tell him that she’s just tired, a little shaken from the fight, which is nowhere near a lie, but she can’t bring herself to turn him down. So she nods again, not trusting her voice.

“Okay,” he whispers before an arm slips around her waist, the other under the arm she has braced against the pine tree’s trunk, supporting her body weight. “I’ve got you.”

Something flickers in the back of her mind, not quite déjà vu but close. The same thing that made her pause back at the farmhouse. Robin quirks an eyebrow at her. “What?”

“Nothing. I just… keep thinking we’ve met before.” She shrugs as best she can with her arm over his shoulders.

“Well, I’m fairly certain meeting you would have made a lasting impression. Although,” he grins and helps her move slowly to the log they’d sat on only hours ago, “I seem to be having a problem lately, nothing too serious mind, just a year of my life that seems to have vanished.”

Despite herself she laughs. Robin’s answering smile is blinding as he sits them both down on the fallen log.

“You always do that,” she says.

“Do what?”

“Make everything seem normal… even when it’s the farthest thing from normal.” And he does, he makes her feel like everything will somehow end up alright. Helps her to forget that her life is one giant clusterfuck of a mess in the moments when they trade quips back and forth.

“I’m not entirely sure any of our lives constitute as normal, Regina,” he says, a rueful smile forming on his lips. “We’re currently in a realm where every single person in this town is considered some sort of fable by the outside world. Besides,” he adds as he tightens his grip on her when a deeper shudder runs through her body, “normal is dreadfully dull.”

When a tremor cuts off her answer he frowns, glances to the left where the small fire he’s been waiting by has dwindled to embers, and when he says, “It’s not slowing down,” she snaps her head to see him biting his lip as he looks at where she’s still trembling in his hold.

“I’m fine,” she says, wills it sound more believable and tries to smile at him. “It’ll pass - it always does.”

That makes Robin’s frown deepen. “You say that like it’s a regular occurrence.” When she doesn’t answer he sighs. “I know you’ve been having… issues with your hands.” When she furrows her brows he rolls his eyes at her, “You spent the majority of the other afternoon with my son and I. Roland might not have noticed the difficulty you had holding your plate, but I did. This is more than that, isn’t it?”

Regina clenches her jaw, doesn’t really want to answer him. But she’s been dealing with everything alone ever since it happened, since she woke up half convinced she was dead or at least close to it. Can remember the slow dawning realisation in Neverland that it might have eased to a certain extent but it was by no means stopping. Despite her lack of memories from the last year, she is aware enough that if she’s had some form of muscle spasm and seizure every day since waking up alone then it has potentially even worsened without treatment. She very much doubts she would have been able to find out what on earth has been happening to her back in the Enchanted Forest.  

Robin sighs again at her silence, amused and frustrated. “Well, I cannot in good conscience let you go home like this, Regina. Don’t even try to tell me you can drive in this state,” he adds, tone sharp when she opens her mouth to argue. “I’m not even sure how you managed to drive here in the first place.” She’s still shaking, not quite as violent as she was when David was helping her up in the clock tower and brushing it off as pure adrenaline, but Robin is right; she wouldn’t be able to drive like this.

“Look, most of the men are in town still. I’m fairly certain they decided to see what The Rabbit Hole was like after tasting the beer in Granny’s this morning.” She shifts at the mention of Neal’s wake, remembers how confused and downtrodden Henry looked, how she couldn’t comfort him the way she wanted to. Remembers Robin sliding up to her and Tink and letting her make her pathetic attempts at avoiding him, with a look that told her he knew exactly what she needed in that moment. “Only Arthur is there, he’s looking after Roland and he’s got a bit of a soft spot for you apparently, so he won’t say anything.”

Arthur is young, young and idealistic and the afternoon she spent with Roland the other day seemed to have given the boy enough courage to throw himself down next to her and tease the toddler in her lap about having a crush. He’d winked at her, bold as brass, told Roland he couldn’t blame him in the slightest, that the Queen was a good first crush to have. And she’d burned as bright pink as Roland at that, averted her eyes and carried on telling him that she was sure he would like the chili his father had cooked if he just tried it. But he doesn’t make her wonder what he’s really thinking (mainly because he tends to lack a filter from what she can tell) like some of the others in Robin’s band of Merry Men, so she only hesitates for a moment before she finds herself nodding.

Robin makes sure she’s sitting relatively securely before dousing the fire and gathering their things; he slides the pouch with her heart in inside a coat pocket, mutters that he will find a safe place for it tomorrow before stepping closer and offering her his arm. She might hate how he is very obviously aware that she is nowhere near steady enough to stand on her own, let alone walk, but she is so fucking grateful that he doesn’t assume she needs to be carried. So she slips her arm through his, wraps both hands around it and lifts herself up, legs still wavering under her, but Robin merely arranges them so she can pretend she’s only using his arm as a guide, and not to support most of her body weight.

“We’re not far,” he says. He wraps one of his own hands over hers and squeezes them. And they aren’t far at all, she knows that, but it still takes more than twice as long to get there when her legs keep insisting on buckling every few feet. Robin never says a word, just tightens his hold and shifts ever so slightly to support more of her each time it happens.

Arthur looks up from where he’s sitting in front of the fire when they finally make it to the camp. He frowns at them but doesn’t say anything until she’s sitting in a camping chair with a sleeping bag thrown over her legs, Robin in the one next to her and Arthur is shoving a bowl of stew into her hands, glaring when she protests.

“I know you’re a Queen an’ all, Majesty, but ya look like death warmed up. Food’ll do ya good.” And then he’s turning to share a smirk with Robin and saying, “His lordship is asleep, Robin, been that way for a couple of hours now I reckon. Alan came back about an hour ago too, he’s asleep already I’ll bet, so I think I’ll go join the lads in town.”

Robin nods. “Thank you, Arthur, careful getting there, alright? Wouldn’t want you turning into a monkey.” His voice is gruff when he speaks, like he’s trying to downplay the caution, but Regina can see the warning in his eyes: he’s worried. And Arthur, for his part, rolls his eyes, throws Robin a mock salute and a  “Yes, _father,_ ” as he turns on his heel with his ever present grin still firmly in place. Robin snorts out a laugh and shakes his head.

She waits until the sound of his whistling as grown fainter, before she comments, “You care for him.”

“I care for all of them,” he tries to brush it off but she shakes her head, doesn’t let him.

“No,” she says, “It’s different. I’ve seen you with most of your men by now. You look after him.” He goes to argue but she cuts him off, “It’s oddly charming… and if you ever tell anyone I used that word, I’ll make you regret it.”

Robin laughs, full and bright, eyes wide with amusement before he calms. “How are you feeling?”

Dropping her gaze from his Regina shrugs one shoulder, takes a mouthful of stew and hopes that’ll be enough. Though why she hopes that she has no idea; the man is equally as stubborn as herself and for some reason, a reason she’s not altogether sure she finds disagreeable anymore, he can quite clearly see right through her. “Fine,” she gives in when he continues to stare at her, open and waiting. “I’m a bit sore, but I did just get thrown through a clock tower roughly twenty feet off of the ground. So it’s probably to be expected.”

“Don’t joke, Regina,” he says softly. “You are well aware of what I mean.” At that he drops his stern look to the bowl her hands are cradling. Her hands are still shaking, though it could easily be mistaken for a shiver now.

“Look,” Regina huffs, gives up on pretending she has any appetite at all and angles herself to face him a little bit better, “I’ve been dealing with this for what is apparently well over a year. I’m _fine_. It’s more annoying than anything else. And it’s certainly not something you need to worry yourself over, no matter how noble you are.” She raises an eyebrow, dares him to disagree with her. “I’m a big girl, Robin Hood,  I have been taking care of myself for years now.”

“Well, I don’t doubt that at all. Doesn’t mean you have to anymore.”

She doesn’t have an answer for that, has no idea what to even think, let alone to say to him in response, so she turns back to the fire and tugs the sleeping bag around her a little more.

“Look,” he says and she swears she can feel him rolling his eyes when she keeps her gaze on the fire instead of him. “It’s getting late and you’ve had a ridiculously long day; why don’t you try and get some sleep?”

Regina knows exactly what he’s suggesting, knows he’s probably about to offer up his own bed, or whatever it is he sleeps on out here, and she desperately wants to say yes. Wants to crawl into pine scented sheets and sleep for an eternity, but sleep has been evading her in the late weeks. Any amount of it that she does manage to get is broken, uneasy and more often than not disturbed by nightmares or seizures. At least in her own home it’s less humiliating when she wakes up sobbing or because her skeleton is trying to shake itself free of her skin.

So she plays dumb. “I thought you didn’t want me driving just yet.”

“You know what I mean, mine and Roland’s tent has two separate sleeping compartments -  I can easily bunk in with him and you can take mine.”

“Roland likes having his own room.”

“Then I’ll sleep in the middle part, or I’ll take John’s spot. Regina,” he says, moves to crouch down in front of her, gives her no option but to look at him lest she wants to act like a child and turn her head away. “You are exhausted. You need to at least _try_ to get some sleep if you want to beat your sister. Collapsing in the middle of Main Street because you’re too bloody stubborn to accept help when it’s offered isn’t the way to go about doing that.”

“You know, there was a time when I’d’ve ripped your heart out for talking to me like that.” She frowns when it comes out significantly less intimidating than it was meant to.

“Yes, well,” he huffs out a small laugh, “I’ll worry about that when you can hold your head up without looking like it weighs six tons. For now, _Your Majesty,_ you can either swallow your pride and sleep here, or you let Roland and I take you home. It’s your choice.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she scoffs. She’s half tempted to risk using magic to go home and she’ll just deal with the fallout… but she’s not convinced in the slightest that she would make it home at all. If she _had_ driven here then she could _maybe_ get to the car and sleep there… but she’d walked, stumbled, here. And even if she hadn’t walked to burn off the excess adrenaline there’d be the risk of someone seeing her, and she really, _really_ doesn’t want to think about that. Robin merely sits back on his heels and watches her. “Roland’s sleeping.”

“That boy could sleep through another Ogre war, milady.”

Biting her lip, Regina fights against the temptation to just curl up tighter and sleep where she sits. It’s tempting, so very tempting to take him up on the offer of stealing his bed but she really isn’t sure if she wants to deal with the Merry Men in the morning. Or if she wakes up screaming again. Robin’s eyes flick between hers before he’s clapping his hands to his knees and standing up and ducking into one of the tents a little way from the fire. She can hear him murmuring, presumably to Alan before he’s back and and moving things around the fire.

“What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer her, instead walking into what she knows to be his and Roland’s tent, emerging a few moments later with Roland slung over his shoulder, his monkey under his little chin, wrapped in warm outerwear and a blanket, with a backpack and a second blanket over the other arm while his son sleeps on seemingly unaware.

“Robin…”

“C’mon.” He offers her a hand that she just stares at. “You won’t be comfortable here, so we’re walking you back to your home.”

She flounders a little at that. “It’s not exactly a short walk, and I don’t really have the magical energy to get us all there after tonight.”

“I’m not asking you to.” He keeps his hand out stretched for her to take. “Look, the camp isn’t all that far from town anymore, it won’t take all that long to get there at least and then we can ask someone for a lift.” At that Regina bristles, it’s bad enough she keeps letting him see her weak; she is damn well not letting anyone in town see her like this. “Well, are you fit to drive?”

“No,” she bites out. She neglects to tell him she didn’t drive here, but that she would happily drive herself home if she had. But she already knows if that were the case he’d insist on coming along and probably bring Roland as Alan is clearly not up for child-minding tonight, and she won’t risk anything happening to him. To either of them. Even if it’s merely hypothetical.

“Well then, put that blanket on for some extra warmth, and the sooner we leave the sooner you will be home.”

He’s not going to give in. She can already tell he won’t, and she really doesn’t want to walk all the way back to her house, but she knows magic isn’t really much of an option right now, and she wants to stay here and face his men even less. She grumbles but accepts his hand to help her stand, lets go as soon as she’s balanced on her feet and yanks the thick sleeping bag around her shoulders and starts walking. For his part Robin keeps pace with her, but never tries to guide her, though whenever she stumbles a steady arm shoots out to catch her.

When they haven’t even made it out of the forest after half an hour and her feeling like she needs to stop constantly, Regina curses under her breath, grabs onto Robin’s hand and tells him to hold onto Roland tight.

They arrive in the middle of her living room, which is better than she was hoping for, but the smug pride she feels is short lived when her head spins and she lets go of Robin to drop onto the sofa. She hears shuffling, and Robin’s voice soothing someone, but it’s distorted and her ears are ringing so she has no idea who he’s talking to. Has no clue he’s even still in the room until cool hands are cupping her cheeks and she sees his lips moving, but it’s like she’s under water and everything is muffled.

It takes a few minutes, though it feels like hours, but her vision stops spinning as much and she can hear clearer now. Can hear the softness of Robin’s voice as he talks to her, hands still cupped around her face and only now does she realise her own hands are gripping tight at his wrists and she’s shaking all over once again.

She shouldn’t have done that. She _really_ should not have fucking done that.

“You back with me?” His thumbs stroke back and forth across her jaw line and blue eyes are locked onto her face, flitting over her constantly like he’s looking for injury. It baffles her, that he looks so worried, so _scared_ for her of all people. She can’t quite find her voice yet so she settles for nodding.

“Okay, I’m going to stay until I know you’re alright.” He’s still crouched down in front of where she sits, but now only one hand is on her face, helping keep her focus on him while the other gently tugs the sleeping bag from her shoulders.

“Spare room,” she mumbles, tries to keep her eyes from shutting and leans forward to rest her head against his chest.

“What was that?”

“R-Roland’s sleeping… can stay here.” She manages to force the words out, tells herself she’s saying it because she doesn't want to risk him waking up when they leave but knows, deep down, it’s because she can’t handle being completely alone right now. “There’s a spare room… next to Henry’s.” She means to say they can stay together that way, when Roland wakes up he won’t be alone in a strange place, will feel safer if his father is in the same room with him, but her head spins again and she has to swallow back bile. This whole night has been mortifying enough as it is; she does not need to add throwing up on the poor man.

Robin throws a look over his shoulder to where Roland is sprawled on the other couch, monkey tucked under one arm, the other thrown over his head, still dead to the world. “Alright,” he says, rubs one hand up and down the curve of her spine; he waits until she leans back from him slowly and helps her rest against the back of the sofa. If she wasn’t so exhausted she’d be screaming at herself for letting him see her like this. “You okay here for a minute? While I take him up?”

She nods, feels herself drifting as he moves to pick his son up and carry him upstairs. She must zone out for a bit because the next time she blinks her eyes open Robin is walking back into the living room, his jacket now missing but he’s kept his grey hoodie on. On anyone else she thinks she’d hate it, but it looks good on him.

He helps her leaver herself to her feet, wraps a steady arm about her waist and doesn’t say anything when she all but crumples into his side. “C’mon, let’s get you upstairs.”  

He doesn’t carry her. Seems to know that even suggesting it would tip her over the edge, something she really cannot handle right now, but he does tell her there is no rush. That he’s got her and the words set of that niggle in the back of her mind all over again, but she’s too damn tired to say anything about it. Just makes a noise of agreement and focuses on getting her useless legs to just get her up the stairs to her room.

By the time they reach her room, Robin setting her on the edge of the bed and looking unsure of himself for the first time all night, her body is back to the violent trembling she faced in the clock tower. The thought of getting herself to the ensuite to do her nightly routine makes her want to cry a little bit.

“I’ll leave you to it, milady.” He goes to leave but hesitates in the doorway, stops and turns to face her once more. “If you need… anything during the night, even just some water or whatever constitutes in this land for a remedy… just yell.” He’s gone after that, pulls her door shut and she can hear him moving to the guest room besides Henry’s empty one.

Just taking off her coat has bile crawling up from her stomach again, so she decides to forgo walking to the bathroom, or closet for pyjamas, instead she shuffles backwards to the head of the bed, kicks her pants off and onto the floor with everything but her silk shirt, shimmies out of her bra and crawls under the duvet. Worn out beyond belief, just from that, it takes nothing for her to drift off, body still vibrating.

* * *

She wakes a couple of hours later, her heart (despite it not being in her chest right now) thudding, adrenaline coursing through her veins and it must have been a nightmare, she thinks. One of the rare ones she doesn’t remember when she opens her eyes, doesn’t recall but still forces her awake and leaves her even more unsettled when she has no idea why. For a second she thinks she will be able to fall back asleep, be able to catch a few more hours of respite from the mess that is her life, but now that she’s not trying to work out why she is up, she notices just how badly she is shaking.

She thanks her luck that she’s still in the middle of her bed, that she probably won’t fall out of it like she has done more nights than she cares to think about, thinks at least she won’t wake the others before thinking is too hard with how her head is rattling on her neck. She muffles her whimpers into a pillow, briefly wonders if she could suffocate herself, that way everything would just _stop_ before she’s biting down her lip and telling herself to _suck it up, Regina, don’t you dare fucking cry._ Tells herself she has had worse. Mother did worse to her growing up, the King did worse to her in their marriage bed, Rumple did worse to her when he was creating his terrible little monster. _You have had worse._

It lasts longer tonight. Longer than it has in a while. The thought that she wouldn’t know if this is the longest one she’s had since Neverland hisses in the back of her mind, she wouldn’t have a clue because she doesn’t remember what she was doing a mere two months ago. So she bites her lip, swallows back the bile and copper when she bites down too hard, and tells herself it’ll be over soon.

Regina has no idea how long it lasted for, has no idea if she’s imagining the slightly lighter blue-black tint to the sky by her window, but by the time her body is only twitching every now and again she can’t swallow back the burning sensation in her throat anymore. Barely manages to throw herself into the bathroom, her knees cracking against the tile in front of the toilet, before her stomach somehow empties itself of what little it held.

Robin finds her like that, sobbing over the toilet bowl, choking back vomit, with her head pounding and chest feeling like someone has just spent the few hours she slept pouring fire into it.  She’s all at once grateful when he drops down behind her with a glass of water and scoops back the hair she can’t keep a grip on, and humiliated that he is seeing her like this: bent over her toilet, feeling like she’s about to cough up one of her lungs, and wearing next to nothing. He never says a word, doesn’t touch her other than helping hold back her hair, and it helps lessen the want for her to disappear.

When she’s finished, still curled over the bowl with tears dripping down her face, she becomes painfully aware of how she’s sitting on the the bathroom floor in just a shirt and her underwear. Robin stays silent, and though she never really looks at him, she doesn’t think his gaze drops to her bare thighs. Once she lets go of the cool porcelain and slumps to the side, sitting with her back against the wall and legs all twisted together, he presses a glass of water into her hands and reaches up to flush the toilet when she takes it.

“What do you need?” He’s soft-spoken when he breaks the silence, but even that still  feels too loud now that the water refilling the tank has stopped and all that can be heard is her unsteady breathing, and the _tick-tick-tick_ ing of her bedroom clock.

“Pants,” she forces the word out. The water is cool against the sting in her throat but she can barely even whisper.

“And where would they be?” His voice remains quiet, as if to match hers.

“Dre-dresser,” she says, directs him to the bottom drawer where she keeps her exercise clothes, used more since the original curse broke and she wasn’t frozen with the same physique. Robin returns with a pair of plain black, thin workout leggings, takes the glass and places it on the sink before he moves back to her room and pulls the door shut slightly.

It takes her a few minutes to pull the leggings on, she doesn’t quite have the energy to move from sitting on the floor while she pulls them up her legs inch by agonising inch. Even when she has them on Regina sits there for a little longer before forcing herself to her feet, moving to the sink and grabbing her tooth brush. She scrubs at her teeth, uses mouthwash twice and refuses to look in the mirror; she does not feel the need to have visual proof of how terrible she looks right now. Her hands are still shaking, something she doesn’t pay much attention to until she picks the glass back up (Robin must’ve refilled it before he left the room) to take another drink and her fingers spasm.

The glass slips out of her hand and smashes on the tiles in front of her, water and glass covering her feet and spreading out, and all she can do is stare at it. Almost as if she is a little unsure as to what just happened.

“Regina?” Robin stands in the doorway, looks down at where she’s standing amidst shards of glass, when she goes to move his hands shoot out. “Stay there, let me clear the glass away so no one treads on it.” He picks up one of the hand towels and bends down in front of her, uses it to sweep the fragments into a pile, brushes it gently over her feet to remove the slivers stuck to her skin. “You’ve got a few cuts… but I don’t think there’s anything still in them.”

Regina nods, she’s pretty sure if there was glass imbedded into her flesh she would have felt it as Robin ran the back of his hand over her; making sure it was all gone. “I can’t feel any,” she says, cringing internally at how hoarse her voice is. Like someone’s taken a cheese grater to her vocal cords.

“Good.” He places the towel over the pile of glass, looks around as he stands and rubs the back of his neck.

“I’ll clean it up tomorrow… or later today, I guess,” she says, the idea of clearing it away, of going downstairs and getting the dustpan makes her want to lie down. Despite the fact that her fingers are itching to tidy it up, and she can already hear Mother hissing at her to _clean up after yourself for goodness sake, Regina!_

“You sure?”

“Yes, you should go back to sleep.” She very much doubts she will be getting any rest, no matter how exhausted she is. On the off chance she manages to doze off there is a very strong chance of her screaming herself awake in a couple more hours. But Robin looks dead on his feet, with rumpled clothing and red rimmed eyes.

It takes a little more convincing for him to be sure she is okay. And she is. This is okay for her now, and while it turns her stomach that her new ‘okay’ is next to no sleep, constant nightmares, seizures and muscle spasms, she is still breathing. Owen didn’t kill her, Zelena hasn’t yet (won’t if she has anything to say about it), this… whatever _this_ is won’t be the thing that takes her out either.

* * *

She wakes up a little after sunrise, having managed a few more hours of broken sleep. Waking up every now and again half convinced she was still there; still strapped down to that table with Owen hovering over her. Still locked in a tower until she was to be paraded at the next ball, the next time the King sent for her to warm his bed.

It took her a little longer each time to remember that she was at home. She was is in her own damn house, both of them dead and never coming back, and _it isn’t real, it isn’t real anymore._ Trying to sleep for a little longer, however tempting, doesn’t seem worth it; she barely gets an hour before the dreams start and she is jerking awake, damp with sweat and her pulse thudding in her temples. Stretching out slowly, carefully, Regina hisses when her back screams at her. It is so very painful, but it doesn’t seem broken (small blessings after one is thrown through a very high up window), just bruised and battered. The thought of moving much more after that isn’t a motivating one; she uses a little of her magic to ease her cramping muscles and curls back up on her side, watches as the sun inches its way further into her room.

Staying here all day is so tempting. Just pulling the covers up and over her head, drift in and out of awareness and watch dust dance its way through the sunlight and ignore the outside world, if only for one day, sounds heavenly. But this isn’t like those endless, mind numbing days before Henry brought chaos and joy into her life, and if she took a day to barricade herself inside the house no one noticed for very long before forgetting about it. Plus, she guesses that Roland will be waking up soon and will no doubt demand Robin join the land of the living too; it won’t do to be lying around feeling sorry for herself with guests. Cora might just come back from the grave to express her displeasure over that show of poor manners.

Moving at a snail’s pace, Regina edges her way out of bed, gives her back another stretch once she’s standing and moves to the bathroom to try and make herself seem more human. By the time she is as ready for the day as she is ever going to get, Regina can still hear the occasional snore from the guest room as she tiptoes her way down to the kitchen. Her coffee is all but done when Roland shuffles into the kitchen, his monkey shoved under his arm and still in his sleep clothes.

“Regina?”

She jumps a little, not expecting anyone else to be awake, nor for Roland to come exploring on his own. “Hi there, what are you doing up so early?”

He rubs a fist over his eyes and shrugs at her as he moves from the doorway to beside her, letting out a large yawn and leaning against her legs. “Sky’s awa’e,” he slurs.

“Where’s Daddy?”

“Sleepin’,” he giggles. “He’s _snoring_!”

She feels a grin pulling at her lips when he laughs. “Should we let him sleep a little while longer then?”

“Yeah, he’s not been sleeping like normal.” Roland frowns at that, looks so confused and adorably concerned that his father isn’t sleeping often enough (he is spending a large amount of time guarding his camp, and helping herself and the Charmings with their Zelena issue - he probably isn’t sleeping as often) that she picks him up. She ignores the way her muscles pull and beg her to put him down, settles him as comfortably as she can on one hip and brushes back some of his hair when he rests his head on her shoulder.

“Well, I don’t have anything to do today until a little bit later. Have you had a chance to try french toast yet?” When Roland’s eyes light up and he shakes his head Regina figures she can keep him occupied the same way she used to with Henry when he was little. By the time Robin gets downstairs they’ve made a mess of her kitchen, Roland has icing sugar and maple syrup over the bottom half of his face, and there is a pile of french toast with all the fixings ready to go.

She drops them off at Granny’s after a breakfast filled with _how does that work, Regina?_ and _what does that do, Regina?_ and near constant _why_ s. Robin hushes him, but it’s been too long since Henry was asking why every five minutes, too damn long since breakfast wasn’t spent in silence with her little boy glaring into his food, or in isolation wishing for the tense quiet. So she answers every single one of Roland’s questions, promises to invite him and his father over for dinner soon and show him how to use all the _magic metal bits_ in the kitchen.

After eating she spends twenty minutes digging around in her garage for Henry’s old booster seat that she never got around to throwing out, and laughs when Robin glares at the car before getting in. Roland is happily sitting in the tiny space that the back of her three-door mercedes provides, legs kicking up-down up-down and staring out of the window. As they pull up outside the diner, she grins when Robin looks at his son in the backseat, baffled at how to get him out, before taking pity on the poor man, tilting the passenger seat forward and helping Roland clamber out.

“Regina,” he starts after telling Roland to wait for him by the steps, halts her movement towards the car’s other side. “You don’t have to indulge him with cooking dinner and letting him help… I know your days are especially long right now, what with…”

“My crazy-ass green tinged sister?” She bites back another smile when he huffs out a laugh, hand rubbing the back of his neck and nods. “I want to. It’s nice, it’s uh… it’s been awhile since I had to explain _why_ everything worked the way it did. I hadn’t realised I missed it so much.”

“If you’re sure, if you start to feel…” He makes a vague gesture when a couple of the mini-men walk past, and she’s oddly touched that he refrains from mentioning her health in public lest Leroy dig out his town crier hat. “Well, just don’t let us monopolise time you could be using to do better things than let a child destroy your kitchen.”

Regina doesn’t bite back the smile this time. “Wouldn’t dream of it, thief.” She winks, wiggles her fingers at Roland in a wave and ducks back into her car to get to Snow’s loft to try and keep her relentless big sister out.

It’s not until she is parallel parking behind Emma’s ugly yellow bug that she realises she genuinely cannot remember the last time she smiled that much since before Henry was nine and asking where he came from.

* * *

She feels sick as she all but falls out of her car and runs to the camp. Her stomach rolling and hands shaking, for once not from her shot-to-shit nerves and as soon as she sees Robin clutching his son she _knows._ She knows exactly what just happened and not once does it cross her mind to be anything other than relieved that Roland is unharmed, that they all are, and confused as to why the hell she is still breathing.

And she panics, feels it burning its way through her veins, clogging up her lungs and zinging up and down her spine, she panics and starts to spiral but then Robin is gripping her hands in his. Prying them away from where she has twisted them into her scarf, winding it round and round until her fingers turn purple.

“I’m still alive,” she whispers, her eyes fixed on where Roland is explaining in great detail what his collection of sticks is for; the Dark One already forgotten.

“Yeah…” Robin squeezes his hands around hers gently, draws her attention to him. “Usually that is cause for relief, milady.” When all she does is nod he steps in front of her and ducks down to look in her eyes. “Regina? Talk to me.”

“She has my heart,” the words stick in her throat, “she has my heart and she hasn’t c-crushed it yet, which means she is planning to do something worse.”

She can see the moment the dread that is threatening to drag her back under in starting to dawn on him too. “Worse than killing you? Excellent.” At that she lets out a wet chuckle, pressing her forehead into his shoulder when he tugs her closer, not giving a damn who is around to see.

“So, what do we do now?”

“I don’t know.” And she really doesn’t, her mind is completely, _uselessly,_ blank on how she is meant to fix this. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Alright,” Robin soothes, cups on hand under her jaw so she looks at him again when her eyes start to drift all over the camp. Like she’s expecting Gold or her bitch of a sister to pop up and squeeze her heart to dust. “We will find out what she is planning, Regina. You _will_ figure this out, and I’ll help you, in anyway that I can, I give you my word on that.”

Regina shakes her head, eyes ducking away from his to find Roland again. “Villains don’t get happy endings…” she mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing, don’t - don’t worry, I just need to figure this out.” She bites her lip, eyes locked on Roland still but hardly focused; she’s far too busy running through everything she knows (everything she _doesn’t_ know) in her mind. Regina takes a shaky, deep breath and turns to face him, biting back a hysterical sob-laugh hybrid. “I just have no _fucking_ clue how to do that.”

Robin just smiles at her, a half smile, barely there at all but it still makes something in her stomach settle. “Well, we’re not going to figure that out here,” he says. His arms tighten around her for a few moments and he doesn’t let go until she breathes out, unsteady, into his chest, even then he keeps one arm firm about her waist.

“Roland?” He calls softly over to his son who eagerly abandons Tuck in favour of skipping over to them. When he reaches them Robin swings him up into the arm not wrapped around her and Regina can’t help but smile at the trill of giggles he let out, smiles brighter when he wiggles his fingers at her in a wave. “Go and say goodbye to the men.”

Roland frowns briefly before his eyes land back on where Regina is still all but tucked into his father’s side. “Are we going to Regina’s again?”

Robin nods, looks at Regina as if to gage her reaction but she knows there is no way he’s letting that boy out of his sight today, and if she’s honest with herself she doesn’t want to let _either_ of them out of hers. She opts against speaking, chooses to nod so both Locksleys can see her because her eyes are stinging a little and she knows, just _knows_ if she opens her mouth her voice will be the farthest thing from steady.

“Can we use the metal stuff?” His eyes are wide and eager and he’s bouncing in his father’s hold, shrieks in delight when she laughs a little and nods again before he’s wriggling his way back down to the earth and tearing away to say his goodbyes and collect his ever present monkey.

“Is it alright that he comes along too?” Robin asks. “I don’t want you to be alone right now, but I can’t…” He gestures to where his son is making his way back to them.

Regina frowns at him, “I’m pretty sure I would judge you if you could be parted from him right now. Honestly, the idea of not being able to see that he’s okay with my own eyes…” Her voice isn’t as weak as she thought it might have been, but it’s still pretty faint. Roland comes running up to them then, grin stretched from ear to ear, monkey shoved awkwardly in a child-sized backpack, chattering away to both of them about all the things he wants to try in her kitchen as he reaches for both of their hands.

* * *

She digs out a few cook books from her early days teaching herself to cook, lays them out on the kitchen island and Roland flips through them like a mini tornado. Coming up with ideas on what to make based on the pictures; the exact same way Henry used to. They make apple crumble cupcakes. Mainly because Regina knows she has all the ingredients in the house for them, and that they’re easy to make with an eager five year old trying to help.

Robin sits at the kitchen island, offers help every now and again but is told in no uncertain terms by his son that _I’m Regina’s helper, Papa, not you, okay?_ So he mainly sits there and tries not to let his boy see him failing not to laugh at the endless questions he has, or the smirk he gives whenever Regina shoots him a glare as she answers.

“Will they be ready soon?” Roland is practically vibrating, bouncing in place as he tries to get high enough to see through the tempered glass door of her oven to where they’ve just placed two trays of cupcakes.

“Yes, Roland, they will be ready soon,” she answers him, tries not to laugh at the pout that forms when they’re not ready _right this second,_ something his father doesn’t seem to mind doing as he snorts into the coffee she’d put in front of him. Robin only coughs harder when Roland turns to frown at him and ask if he’s okay.

Eventually Roland gets bored of watching the cupcakes rise so she digs out some long forgotten colouring books and markers from her office and lets him have the run of her dining room. When she gets back to the kitchen Robin has himself under control again and is leaning against the island, eyes on her as soon as she walks back in.

“What?”

“For an Evil Queen,” he muses, grinning when she scrunches her nose at him, “you have an awful lot of patience when it comes to this sort of thing. More than I would probably, at any rate.”

She feels a bittersweet smile take up residence on her face. “Well, I had a lot of practice, and five year old helpers are much easier to work with than three year old ones.” She shrugs, puts the last few items in the dishwasher before she decides it’s getting too personal, turns to look at him over her shoulder and grins. “Plus, _I_ actually know how to use an oven…”

“Oh-ho, so it’s like that then?”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling just a little brighter, “it’s like that.”

“You didn’t seem to be complaining about my cooking the other night,” he point out, smile taking on a slightly smug tint and she can’t help but grin back at him. They stand in silence for a few beats more, the quiet sounds of Roland humming to himself reaching them through the open doorway. “Have you thought anymore about what she might be doing?”

Sighing Regina shakes her head, leans back against the counter and tries not to let the panic she’s managed to keep at bay since they left his camp swallow her whole. “No. She can’t control me with it - no one can. Not anymore.” She ignores the look Robin gives her at that, and busies herself making sure all flour and icing sugar is gone from her countertops.

They stand in silence for a few minutes longer, the only sound being the muffled humming they can hear coming from Roland in the dining room. And part of her wants to stay like that, to stay quiet and pretend that he hasn’t been going out of his way to make sure she is alright, to pretend that it doesn’t send her heart racing if he so much as looks at her. She may be very good at lying to herself at this stage in her life, but Regina is starting to find that she doesn’t want pretend when it comes to him. So she sighs, throws the cloth back into the sink to deal with later and turns to face him.

“There’s so much that I don’t know about all of this,” she starts, eyes on the island where he sits instead of his face. “The whole damn thing is a mess, and I have no idea what the hell she is up to! I’ve never even come across a spell that requires a heart, courage, and a baby of all things. And that is assuming that those are the only three things she needs for it - she’s got Gold locked up as her personal lap dog so I doubt it - and I need to work out what that is so I can stop her, but I don’t even know where the hell I am supposed to start, and I - ”

“Breathe, Regina,” Robin cuts her off with hands cupping either side of her jaw and gently forcing her eyes to meet his. _When did he even move from his seat?_ “Just… take a deep breath, working yourself up won’t help.” When she inhales he smiles at her, looking oh so relieved that she’s not talking herself into a panic, and she tries to ignore Mother’s voice hissing at her that she’s not worth it and just lets herself relax into his hold a little. Hands coming up to curl around his wrists, eyes slipping shut for a beat as her head drops to rest on his clavicle, matches her breathing to his own, steady and deep.

“I think I need to go back to the beginning,” she whispers.

“How so?”

When he drops his hands from her jawline she lets go, but instead of pulling back Regina just rests heavier against him, squeezes her eyes shut when one hand cradles the back of her head and the other wraps firm about her waist. Her own hands move to grip tight to the back of his shirt as she buries her face deeper into him, inhales pine and woodsmoke and tells herself that, for right now at least, she is safe here with him. “The only person who knows why Zelena was given up is my mother.”

“Yeah…” he trails off, clearly unsure where she is heading with this train of thought but mercifully he does not let go of her.

“I need to ask her why.”

* * *

He’s barely knocked before she feels like she’s all but ripping her front door from it’s hinges. Roland is passed out against his shoulder and her heart does not skip at the sight.

“You came back.”

Robin tilts his head a little, huffs out a small laugh and shifts his son prompting her to move out of the way so he can bring him in and deposit him onto one of her couches with a throw tugged over him. “I told you I would.”

By the time Robin joins her in the hall her mind is going eighty miles a minute. Because yes, he did say that they would be coming back before they’d left her house that evening so she could get everything ready for the Charmings (and apparently Hook) to come over, but she is so used to people not following through that she is honestly more than a little surprised. Regina ignores the fact that the only reason she yanked the door open so fast is because she was standing a few feet away by the coat closet debating going to his camp anyway.

“You look shocked.” When she flounders for an answer, because she is a little bit shocked - she’s not used to people following through, at least not in regards to her, Robin shakes his head. “I am a man of my word, milady, and I swore to you that I’d protect your heart - something I’ve failed rather spectacularly in I might add. I plan to do everything in my power to help you.” He bites at his lip and gives a small shrug. “You’re not a terrible person, Regina, you deserve help - you’ve _earned_ help.”

Regina’s hands are tangling in the lapels of his jacket and she’s pulling him into her before he can get another word out. Her mind is wonderfully quiet by the time she pulls her mouth away from his, she keeps her eyes closed for a second before opening them - half dreading Robin’s reaction. All he does is stare at her before _she_ is the one being yanked forward.

She whimpers when Robin moves one hand to her hair, wraps it around his fingers and angles her head slightly while his other grips her waist. It’s all she can do to use the hold she has on his shoulders to keep herself standing when he groans in response. It’s only when she hears a soft rustle from the living room that Regina even remembers the littlest Merry Man is fast asleep on her couch, and that maybe making out with his father in the doorway should wait.

“We, um, we should probably…”

“Yeah,” Robin nods, takes a deep breath and shakes his head a little. But he doesn’t let go of her and she finds herself more than a little bit pleased with that.

Regina is half aware that she’s blushing a little, cheeks tinged pink as she chews on her bottom lip and tries to calm her pulse. Robin brushes a kiss across her lips, then a second, and a third before he finally steps back and points a thumb over his shoulder. “Let me get him settled,” he says, “then we can…”

“Maybe we could have that drink?”

He grins at her, and it’s so bright that she can do nothing but smile back and hope she’s not blushing darker because despite everything, she is not a teenager having her first kiss. No matter what she currently feels like.

Regina busies herself with getting them drinks, digs out a bottle of single malt scotch and some tumblers, places them on her coffee table and stacks a few more logs on the fire. By the time Robin makes his way back into the living room, sans jacket and scarf, she’s tucked into a corner of her sofa, blanket over her knees to ward off the chill. She holds out the second glass for him once he’s sat down.

They’re silent for a few minutes, each taking stock of the night, before Robin huffs out a soft laugh. “I have to say, that drink was worth the wait.”

“You think so?”

“I do,” he nods, and when he pulls his lower lip between his teeth she can’t help but lean forward to kiss it, pulling it between her own and sucking slightly.

There’s a part of her, admittedly it is a very small part, that thinks she should pull away and that they should talk; even putting aside the fact that she is the Evil Queen, now is hardly the best time to starting a relationship, starting _something_ , with anyone. But he makes her feel like she’s sixteen again. Like hope is anything but cruel and she might actually be able to have _this,_ she might be able to have someone who is in her corner no matter what, who wants to hear about her day and will comfort her when it’s been horrible. Like she could be enough for someone.

Like she could be happy.

It’s when Robin groans as she nibbles at his top lip that she decides they can talk later, she pulls back for a second, grins wide, and giddy, and stupid when he pouts and tries to follow before she’s taking his empty glass from loose fingers and twisting to place them both on the coffee table.

Regina knows she’s made a mistake when a sharp pain grips her side as she bends to make the move possible. She manages to put them onto the table top before another wave of pain wraps it’s way around her left side and she can’t bite back the hiss this time.

“Regina?” Robin sits up quickly, but still slow enough to avoid jostling her as he covers the hand she has clutching just below her ribs and uses the other to tuck the hair falling over her face behind her ear. “What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s fine - I’m fine.”

“Yes, I can completely see how you’re fine milady,” he says, makes no effort to hide the sarcasm and she knows, just _knows,_ he’s rolling his eyes at her.

“No really, I must have landed a little harder than I’d originally thought - it’s just a bruise.” Regina rights herself inch by inch, grimaces when her side protests again, the pain starting at her hip and working its way upwards past her bottom ribs. Even when she’s dead Mother loves to leave her marks.

“ _Landed harder than you thought?_ Regina, what the hell happened after we left?”

“We found out why Zelena is after the baby,” she hedges. Robin just raises his eyebrows at her, and any other time she might find it endearing that she may have met someone who is just as stubborn as she is. “We did the seance but it… it didn’t go quite according to plan.”

“Yes, I’d worked that much out for myself, thank you.”

It’s her turn to roll her eyes this time. “It’s meant to open a limited portal for speaking - but… I’m not sure how, but my mother was able to break through. Mary Margaret thinks it was because of her, and maybe she’s right, but I’m almost certain had my mother not had magic it wouldn’t have happened,” she sighs. Shifting a little she scrunches her nose when her side tugs, though she’s getting used to it so it’s not nearly as jolting.

“She um, she went after her and I got in the way.” At Robin’s alarmed look she hastens to add, “Mary Margaret and the baby are fine, and my mother’s gone, and we know what happened back then now -” she starts to ramble but he cuts her off.

“I’m glad that she and the baby are alright, but honestly I’m worried about you right now.”

“I told you I’m fine.”

Robin scoffs and levels her with his own narrowed-eyed look when she turns to glare at him. “Yes, you’ve said - multiple times in fact. But you’re a terrible liar, Regina.”

She wants to be outraged, but he’s smirking at her and Regina is starting to work out that it’s not just Roland’s dimples she is a little bit weak for. “What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Well, first of all no one _ever_ says they’re fine more than once if they actually are. You also twitch your nose a little bit when you lie, one of your tells I’m afraid milady.” He grins at her for a moment before sobering as his eyes flick down to her waistline. “And then there is the fact that you’ve yet to let go of your side.”

He’s right, she hadn’t even realised that she is still cupping the lower part of her ribcage like she can protect it from further damage. Her jaw drops open slightly, and she makes a concentrated effort to lower her hand.

“Don’t you dare tell me you are fine,” he says when she goes to speak. When she chooses to say nothing Robin just smiles at her before he’s moving to tug at her and the blanket that sits on the couch cushion, abandoned. She’s not quite sure what he’s doing at first, but she lets him without a real protest, just makes a confused noise when he kicks off his boots and shuffles into a different position. But then she’s being pulled gently, so gently - like she’s made of spun glass - into his side and she realises he’s angled them both so she can stretch out her aching muscles and lean on him without worrying about resting on her left side.

Regina wants to say something, but nothing feels good enough. It’s such a simple thing, but her eyes well up and the words stick in her throat _because_ it is so _simple_. No one has cared enough to make such an understated gesture towards her in years. So she stays quiet, nudges her own shoes off of her feet and lets herself sink into him as he arranges the blanket over them and wraps one arm around her back.

* * *

They fall asleep there, tangled together under a blanket on her couch while the fire dwindles. At some point in the night they wake up; she’s not sure who woke first, just that the fire was out completely and even with the shared body heat under the woolen throw, she was cold. Robin had offered to stay down here, or to bunk with Roland, but she shakes her head. Tangles her fingers with his and pulls at his hand until he stands and follows her upstairs.

She’s tempted to crawl into bed as she is, fully clothed in the silk shirt and slacks she’d changed into after an afternoon of playing with Roland, but she knows she’d hate herself for it in the morning. Still, the idea of walking to her closet to change doesn’t sound any better, so she flicks her wrist and by the time she’s moving to her side of the bed she’s in silk pyjamas.

“D’you want…” She makes a vague motion towards Robin’s clothes.

“No, not if you don’t mind my sleeping in my shirt and underwear?” he asks as he starts working his way out of his layers. “It’s up to you.”

Regina shakes her head and buries herself deeper into the pillows of her bed, and when Robin climbs in next to her and keeps some distance between them she grumbles, shuffles forward until her head is tucked into the crook of his neck again. His arms find their way back around her and she can feel a smile forming against her forehead as he turns on his side to hold her.

“Sleep well, milady,” he whispers before pressing a kiss to her hairline. Regina mumbles something she hopes is English back before she lets sleep take her back under once more.

She wakes up in almost the same position they fell asleep in. Wrapped securely in Robin’s arms, but she’s further down - forehead pressed just below his collarbone and one of her own arms draped over his waist. She should get up, she’s never been one to sleep in, but it’s warm and she slept without nightmares for the first time in a long time.

It’s odd, sleeping with someone; she’s never done it like this before. It’s only ever been Henry clambering under covers and asking her to protect him from monsters when he was small enough to want her to. Before she became the stuff of his nightmares and suddenly the monsters under his bed weren’t scary anymore. Regina always thought it would feel too suffocating - it’s part of why she would never let Graham stay - but something about it makes her want to curl into Robin’s chest further and ignore the daylight creeping across her carpet.

She stretches for a moment before burrowing back into him, tucking both her arms between them, hands resting over his heart. Robin’s breathing changes, alerts her to his being awake half a second before he’s mumbling _it’s early_ as he shifts a little, squeezes his arms around her for a beat before he settles back into her pillows. Regina just nods and pushes herself closer to him.

“Five more minutes,” she mutters.

Robin huffs a laugh into her hair and tugs the comforter higher around them. “Five more minutes.”

* * *

Emma texts her half way through breakfast while Roland is digging into his omelette and happily telling his father this might be his favourite so far.

“Everything alright?” Robin asks once Roland has eaten and they’ve moved into her front room.

“Yes, Emma wants to know if she can drop Henry here - he doesn’t want to go fishing again apparently.”

She’s still staring at the text when Robin speaks, “Do you want us to go, give you some alone time with your boy?” And maybe she should say yes, should spend the afternoon with just her and Henry, but he doesn’t know who she is and Regina isn’t sure she can handle another afternoon spent holding herself back every second with her own son.

“No,” she says, “I want you to stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Besides, having you and Roland here might help.” She sighs, “Henry doesn’t remember me, he has _no idea_ that I’m his mother - maybe this will…” She trails off, unsure of how to explain that she needs him there as a buffer when her son looking blankly at her gets to be too much. It should probably terrify her how much she has come to rely on this thief and his son, and it does, but not nearly enough to tell him to go. Robin just nods, squeezes the arm he has loose about her shoulders and presses a kiss to her hairline.

“We’d be more than happy to stay, Regina.”

“Don’t stay just because I asked you to…”

“I want to stay,” he assures her before he grins. “Besides, I’m not sure I could get Roland to leave for love, nor money.” When she smothers a quiet laugh his smile becomes even brighter. “I love it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

Regina bites her lip, tells herself to not even think about blushing and directs her attention back to where Roland is in front of her television looking through Henry’s collection of DVDs. Her eyes flit over the little boy tracing the outlines of Pride Rock on the movie’s case, to land on the photographs dotted around her living room.

“What?” Robin asks when she sighs. His gaze turns sympathetic when she gestures to the frame she has sitting on one of her end tables: Henry at about four years old, bundled up in layer upon layer, standing next to a snowman and grinning from ear to ear. “Ah.”

“Yeah.” She rubs at her temples. “I guess I should put those away.”

* * *

By the time Henry is knocking on her front door - Emma idling by the curb, only driving off when Regina opens the door and Henry waves goodbye - all the pictures with him have been put away in her room, and Robin has explained to Roland that Henry doesn’t remember the Enchanted Forest, and that _it’s important to try and not say anything about it, alright?_

“Hi, Madam Mayor,” Henry says.

“You do know that you can call me Regina, Henry?”

“Oh! Yeah, of course.” He blushes, shuffles his feet the same way he would when he was five and asking if he could get some flowers to give to Ruby for babysitting him. It’s just as adorable now as it was then. “So, it’s cool that I’m here right? Mom said you had some people around?” he asks as he takes off his jacket and passing it to her when she reaches for it.

“You are more than welcome to be here, Henry,” she assures him as she hangs it up, the sight of it in its normal spot clogging her throat for a few seconds. “Though I am a little surprised you agreed to come here - I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with Killian.”

He shrugs. “I mean, he’s cool, but I’ve been spending a lot of time with him or Leroy and I dunno, I had fun when you showed me around town.” Regina bites at the inside of her cheek, Mother’s disapproving voice be damned, when he scuffs his feet and drops his eyes to the floor. “But, I haven’t really got to see you again since then - you’re either helping my mom or with Mary Margaret and David, so I asked Mom to drop me here.” His head shoots up, eyes wide as he adds, “That was okay right? I didn’t like, interrupt anything important?”

“No, no h-Henry,” she catches herself just before she says _honey_ and hopes with everything that he doesn’t spot the slip up. “I just have a- a friend of mine over. Come on,” she moves towards the living room and waits for him to follow. Roland is still cross-legged on the floor staring open-mouthed at all the animals dancing across the screen while his father watches him with amusement.

Robin’s attention shifts from his son to where she stands in the doorway with her own. “Hi, you must be Henry?”

“Uh, yeah, hi.”

“Henry this is Robin,” Regina introduces them, heart stuttering when Robin stands up to shake her son’s hand. “And that’s his son, Roland.” At the sound of his name Roland turns away from the Elephant Graveyard, eyes widening a little when he realises there is someone new in the room.

“Hi!” His eyes flick back to the TV, where hyenas are slinking out of an elephant’s skull before looking back at them. “Do you like Simba?”

Henry nods. “I do, it’s one of my favourites.”

“I’ve never seen it before,” Roland says with a frown, looking remarkably put upon.

Henry glances at Regina before he moves to fold down next to Roland in front of the coffee table. “It’s really good - my mom and I used to watch it all the time when I was little.”

The boys don’t hear her sharp intake of breath but Robin does and he’s off the couch and leading her into the kitchen, telling the boys they’ll be right back before anyone notices the, no doubt, hurt look on her face. He waits until they’re by the island before tugging her in towards him, arms wrapping around her back as he holds her to him.

“He thinks it was Emma,” she whispers, feels him sigh and nod against where her forehead is pressed just under his jaw. “He was obsessed with that movie for months when he was a toddler - he’d beg me to watch it with him every Sunday morning. We’ve probably watched it a hundred times over by now.” She lets out a wet laugh sounding laugh. “I know every damn word to that movie.”

“And I bet you never once said no,” Robin says, hugs her a little tighter when she laughs harder, shakes her head and says _of course not_ , because he’s right - she never even thought of saying no. Has never really been able to with that boy of hers when it came to things like that. “The things we do for our children.” Another sigh before, “how are you feeling?”

“My son has no idea who I am, so I am wonderful.”

“While I understand the sarcasm, that wasn’t actually what I was referring to, milady.” Robin drops one of his hands from where it’s been rubbing up and down her spine to her hand, cups it and squeezes it briefly. “You’re shaking, love.” He’s right, she’s been trembling sporadically for most of the morning now. “Is there even any point in me asking you to relax today?”

“Robin…”

“Yes, I know, stupid question really, wasn’t it?” He pulls back an inch to look down at her. “Okay, will you at least promise to let me know if you feel like you’re about to have a seizure?”

“W-why?” She can’t quite understand the way he’s looking at her, can’t quite understand the soft look in his eyes, understands the way it morphs into bemusement even less.

“Well,” he starts, “call me crazy, but I’m rather invested in your well being. I can help, Regina, I _want_ to help.”

He looks so earnest, eyes locked onto hers and she can feel one of his thumbs stroking absently where it rests against her hip. It’s not something she’s used to, having someone so definitively in her corner - willingly at least. Regina hasn’t had anything like this since Daniel, and even then it’s different. She was a child back then, both of them were, and neither one of them really knew what they were doing - Daniel not grasping her fear of being discovered completely, and her being too terrified half of the time to really try getting away for good until it was too late.

But Robin is an adult who has no allusions about who she is - _who she was -_ who lived through her worst years and still, for some reason, wants to stick around. Wants to be with her, to _help_ her, and it’s every bit as wonderful as it is confusing. “What do you see in me?”

“I hope it’s the same thing you see in me - a second chance.” He tugs her closer, winks and adds, “Plus, you’re not awful at kissing.” When he waggles his eyebrows at her Regina doesn’t bite back the laugh.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, smile still stretched from ear to ear.

“I will admit that I’ve heard that before.” Robin pulls her in closer, slides one hand from her waist to her jaw and she pretends that she’s not leaning in closer. “But, I rather think you might like it, Your Majesty.”

Regina bites her lip. “I’m not sure I like your tone, _thief_ ,” she says, puts on her best Evil Queen voice and tips her chin up to look down at him, never mind the fact that she’s not in her highest heels so she’s barely eye to eye with him anyway.

“That smile says otherwise,” Robin sasses back before the hand cradling her jaw is tipping her forwards and kissing her before she can toss something back at him. She can’t quite wipe the smile off her face even as Robin’s teeth are grazing her bottom lip and she has no idea if the wobble her knees just gave is because of his tongue grazing hers, or if it’s a tremor like usual. Her own hands take up residence on his shoulders, hanging on for dear life while she’s kissed within an inch of hers, and not once does her smile falter.

Her teeth tug gently at his bottom lip, fingers of one hand sliding up to tie themselves into the hair at the nape of his neck, and when he moans quietly her absent heart skips. She whimpers a little when Robin pulls back, but he only grins, says _see - definitely not a terrible kisser_ before he’s diving back in and her world starts to make a little more sense. Regina is in the middle of convincing herself she cannot wrap herself around him in her kitchen while their children are in the next room when a throat clears.

“Um… sorry, Roland wanted some juice?” Henry stands in the doorway looking like he’d rather be anywhere else on Earth. Regina extracts herself from where Robin’s hold has gone slack, tucks some hair behind her ear (prays that the hand he’d tangled there hasn’t done too much damage) and turns to the refrigerator to hide the faint blush she just _knows_ is creeping up her neck.

“O-of course,” she stutters as she pulls a carton of apple juice from the door and moves to get a glass. “Do you want one as well, Henry?”

“Sure,” he says, embarrassment at finding her kissing - _making out_ \- with a man against her kitchen island now gone. “Thanks, I’ll just… leave you two alone then.” And he may not remember it, but the slight shadow of a smirk on his face is exactly the same as the one he had when he was five and caught her eating one of the Christmas cookies they were meant to be saving before demanding he have his own. He takes the glasses from her, smirk still in place, and darts back to the front room.

Regina stands facing the doorway not quite sure of how she should proceed, because right now Henry’s not her son - at least not in his mind - though even if Henry did have his memories right now, she’s not sure she’d have much more of a clue on approaching it either. He’d never even seen her with Graham once he was old enough to ask questions. Hell, Regina’s not even entirely sure he would have seen them do anything remotely unprofessional before then either.

“So… that happened.” Robin says, he shifts to lean against the island counter more and she can feel his eyes on her back as she stands staring at the now empty doorway. “Are you alright?”

She starts to say yes, that of course she is fine, this is just par for the course after all, but then she turns to look at him and her voice sticks in her throat before the first syllable is half way out. “No, no I’m not alright.” When he reaches for her hand she lets him tug her forward into him, lets herself enjoy the foreignness of being held and tucks her hands between the two of them, palms against his chest with his heartbeat thudding against her fingertips.

“What can I do?”

“You’ve already done plenty, Robin.” Regina runs a hand through her hair, sighs and forces a half-hearted smile. “I don’t think anything will help until Henry remembers and this curse is broken.”

Robin frowns and squeezes at her waist. “Any luck on that front?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet, and I’m not completely sure on how to do that.” When he muffles a laugh and shakes his head at her she asks, “What?”

“I find that very hard to believe, milady. You may not have anything certain, but even though it’s only been a few weeks, I _know_ you, Regina. And I know you have an idea of some sort.”

She hesitates and bites at her bottom lip. “He doesn’t believe.”

“What do you mean?”

Sighing Regina pulls him towards the breakfast stools to sit down, uses the time they take to sit to try and unscramble the thoughts bouncing around her head. “The whole reason he went and found Emma, is because he believed everything in the book.” She takes a deep breath, hating how unsteady it is and feels the corner of her mouth twitch in response to Robin’s hand slipping into her own and squeezing. “He doesn’t believe in fairy tales, in magic - nothing has brought back his memories because he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing. Even in things that don’t make sense unless you do.”

He stays quiet, lets her try to make sense of everything - he just keeps his eyes locked on her and his thumbs stroking over the back of the hand he has cradled between his. “Last time, the curse broke because of Henry. Emma was needed to actually break it, but without Henry she never would have come to Storybrooke.” Another shaky inhale. “And without that book, he never would have wanted to find his _real mom_.” Her voice breaks just a little, but he doesn't say anything.

“You _are_ his mum,” Robin tells her.

“I wasn’t,” she says. “Not for a while, not to him.”

“I don’t believe that,” he argues back, still stroking over her hand and staring at her like he knows each and every one of her secrets, thoughts, fears. And she can’t find it in her to give a damn. “You’re his mother, always have been and always will be. Henry knows that.” When she frowns and goes to answer back, Robin shakes his head and squeezes at her hand. “He may not remember you right now, but on some level he _knows_ Regina. He knows that he is safe with you, and he knows that you’re important. He knows, alright?”

She sniffs, blinks back moisture in her eyes and nods. “Alright.”

Robin smiles and ducks to drop a quick, firm kiss to the crease in her forehead before he’s pulling back and rubbing at her shoulders. “Now, what do you say we joins the boys?”

* * *

She calls Emma from her home office that night, after she’s said goodnight to Roland and Robin carries the boy upstairs to her spare room. “I think I might have an idea on how to break the curse,” she says before Emma has even finished saying _hello._

“What?” There a muffled string of thuds before Emma’s voices comes through a little clearer. “Sorry, it’s a little crowded in here right now, what were you saying?”

“The curse.” Regina resists the urge to roll her eyes. “I think we need to break it in a similar way to last time.”

“Um, okay? That’s great and everything, but last time all I had to do was believe in magic and kiss Henry. Both of which have happened daily since coming back,” Emma points out.

“Yes, but Henry believed last time.” When she’s met with silence she actually does roll her eyes. “Look, this curse isn’t an exact replica of the first one - I didn’t cast it, we’re only missing the last year of our memories instead of having new lives completely, we’re all aware that we’re living under it, and families haven’t been split up.” Sighing she sits down. “So the curse won’t be broken in the _exact_ same way as before. Last time _you_ needed to believe, this time I think it might be Henry who does.”

“Huh,” Emma hums. “That… that actually makes some sense.”

“It’s just an idea,” Regina cautions. “I have no idea if it will work, but… we need our memories back if we’re going to figure out how to stop Zelena.” She bites at her lip, hates that she can feel her heart clench in her empty chest cavity at the thought of another day with her son looking through her. “ _Henry_ needs his memories back.”

“Yeah, and so do you,” she mutters.

“And what is that supposed to mean, Miss Swan?”

“Nothing,” Emma sighs out, frustration evident in her tone. “Nothing it doesn’t - look forget I said anything. How do we get Henry to believe?”

It takes an awful lot to swallow down the scathing words she wants to let out (there’s a fleeting thought that Henry would be proud of her biting her tongue), but she has more important things to worry about without adding whatever is wrong with the Charmings oldest offspring to her list. “The same way that you started to.”

“The book?” There’s a huff and what sounds like fabric shifting before Emma’s saying “but you said you looked for it in Henry’s room, you said you couldn’t find it.”

Again, Regina bites back the sarcastic comment begging to be let out. “Yes, it was on his bed before Pan’s curse hit, everything else reappeared exactly where it had been left. But the book is linked to the curse - otherwise it’d never have shown up in the first place.” She sees Robin in the doorway out of the corner of her eye, mouths that she’ll be back in a minute and turns her attention back to the phone, frustration mounting. “Your mother was the one who gave Henry the book in the first place.” There’s a tiny part of her that will always resent that, even though she knows now the curse needed to break. “Just ask her to look around for it, alright? Maybe it returned to where ever she found it back then.” She doesn’t say goodbye, just hangs up, lets out a groan as her head drops forward to rest in her hands, elbows propped on the edge of her desk.

“You alright there, milady?” Robin calls from hall, voice soft and amused.

“Tell me again that killing her is a bad idea.”

He laughs, quiet and bright, at that and she can hear him move closer but she keeps her eyes closed as she presses at either side of her temple, willing the headache she can feeling building away. She almost whimpers when she feels calloused warm fingers squeeze at her shoulders before he rubs firm, wonderful circles into her bunched muscles. “How about a drink?” he asks, and she doesn’t even try to hide the smile creeping onto her face when he presses a kiss to the join of her neck and shoulder, stubble tickling her skin and sending shivers racing through her.

Regina nods, drops her hands away from her head and turns to catch his lips with hers, her smile becoming more evident when she feels his own against her mouth as they kiss. Robin nips at her before pulling back, his own lip now caught between those teeth before he leans in a fraction to ghost the tip of his nose over hers. “Alright, I’ll go get us those drinks. Do you want me to bring them in here, or the front room?”

“Front room,” she mumbles before reaching up to grip the back of his neck when he moves to stand upright, tugs him back down to brush a series of kisses across his mouth, pressing one to his stubble covered jaw before letting go. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Okay.” Another kiss, this time pressed to her hairline and Robin leaves. She’s still smiling, headache all but forgotten, when she turns back to her desk to pick up the small pile of paperwork sitting beside her laptop. Making sure everything is where it should be, Regina stands scooping the papers up and moving to put them into the filing cabinet in the corner.

The dull _thunk_ doesn’t completely register in her head until after she has already shut it and half turned to face the door. Regina frowns as she pulls the drawer back open and stands closer to root around under the files she just placed in there - even combined they were far too light to make such a sound. Shifting paper to the side she sees familiar brown leather about halfway down the stack. Her stomach swoops at the gold edging, and her breath catches when budget reports slide back to reveal the still bright letters _Once Upon a Time_. But though the feeling in her stomach is similar to the one she’d get every time she saw Henry dragging that infernal tome around two years ago, it’s relief that sinks into her gut this time, not dread.

Regina walks into the living room where Robin is sat on her couch, one arm draped over the back of it and two ciders on her coffee table, with it clutched against her torso and a shaky smile. She can tell by the way he sits forward and his eyes widen as they land on the back cover that he knows what it is. Sitting down next to him she stares at the letting of the book on her lap, traces the edges with her fingertips and bites at her lip.

“It’s nearly over,” she whispers.  

* * *

They go to Granny’s for breakfast. Roland comes skidding into the kitchen while Regina is fixing herself a cup of coffee - half asleep still and moving slowly so she doesn’t burn herself - all dimples and baby teeth as he flutters his eyelashes at her, bottom lip poking out, and asks if he can have Granny’s _yummy waffles, Regina?_ And really, how the hell is she supposed to say no to that face?

Robin just smirks at her when he comes down to be informed by his extremely excited little boy that they’re going out for food and they really, really need to hurry because he is going to starve.

“You’re not even dressed for the day yet, my boy,” Robin points out, biting back a smirk as Roland tries to hurry them towards the door, still in the borrowed pyjamas she’d laid out for him last night. “Regina and I both are, so why don’t you go and get yourself dressed before pushing us out the door? Unless you want to go to Granny’s like that.” Roland’s eyes become dinner plates at that and he’s tearing up her staircase before either of them can say anything else.

She drives them into town, Henry’s old booster seat still in the miniscule space the back of her Benz supplies, but Roland’s feet don’t even come close to the back of the passenger seat so she assumes he’s not too squashed back there.

“How much bigger do I have to be before I can drive, Papa?”

Robin throws her a narrowed eyed Look when she hides her laugh with a cough, before glancing over his shoulder at where Roland has stopped gazing out of the window to face the front.  “A lot bigger.”

“That’s ages away,” Roland sighs.

“Thank the Gods for that,” Robin mutters under his breath as she pulls into a space across the road from the diner.

Rolling her eyes Regina climbs out before turning back to help Roland wriggle free from the back seats, biting back the smile that wants to break through when he reaches up to grab her hand and skips along beside her as they make their way into Granny’s. He only lets go to run a head as soon as Robin holds the door open for them, securing a booth and grinning at Ruby when she ruffles his hair as she passes by with someone’s breakfast. She comes back once they’re all sitting to note down their order, teases Roland about his clearly desperate need for strawberry waffles, and promises to be right back with some drinks.

They’ve only been there a few minutes when she sees Henry wander through from the back and shuffle over to the counter.

“Why don’t you ask him to join us?” Robin’s voice startles her a little.

“I don’t know,” she starts. She bites at the inside of her cheek as she turns to look at Robin. “He probably wouldn’t want to - he spent all day with me yesterday. And, well… I’m not someone he remembers so he’d probably find it odd that I invited him over, and - ” she cuts herself off, grits her teeth and clenches her hands into fists, hold her breath for a second or two before sighing and shaking her head. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t look anywhere but at the smooth black surface of her coffee, but she already knows the expression he’s looking at her with - a mixture of concern, empathy and amusement.

“Henry!” Apparently she needn’t have worried about agonising over whether or not inviting her son who doesn’t know he’s her son to join them for breakfast, because as soon as Roland spots his new best friend he’s kneeling up on the seat again (ignoring his father’s sighed _Roland, that’s not how we sit is it?_ ) to shout across the diner and wave frantically - as if anyone had missed where his voice had come from.

Henry smiles at them before grabbing his hot coco and walking over. “Hi, Roland. Madam Mayor, Mr…”

“Just Robin is fine, Henry,” Robin says.

Henry flushes a little (she deftly ignores how her insides clench and screams at herself not to reach for him) and nods. “Robin. How’re you?”

“You should sit with us, we’re having breakfast!” Roland speaks before either of them can answer, intent on getting to spend some more time with him. And something about it has her biting at her lip - had her constantly fighting back the odd tear yesterday. It’s ridiculous, it’s _unbecoming_ hisses Cora from that deep, dark, horrid part of her mind, that the sight of her son, whether he knows it or not, with Robin’s own child has her getting overly emotional. Her and Robin aren’t together, not really, she can’t call him her lover as everything they’ve done so far has been innocent, seeing Henry and Roland together shouldn’t have this affect on her.

“Oh, um, you guys wouldn’t mind?”

Her little boy’s voice brings her back to the present and she can’t help but frown at him. “Of course we wouldn’t.”

“Have you ordered Henry?” Robin asks. He slides out of the booth when Henry chews his bottom and lip and nods, throwing a look behind him at the counter where Ruby is punching something into the till. “Tell you what, why don’t you sit down and I’ll go see if Ruby can bring it over here when it’s done instead?” He waves off the stammered thanks that Henry gets out before moving to speak with Ruby as Henry slips in beside Roland.

“I’m getting waffles!”

“Yeah?”

Regina bites back a smile when her son and Roland slip easily into a conversation about everything they did yesterday. Mostly it’s Roland talking a mile a minute but Henry doesn’t seem to mind at all, keeps up with no problem and promises that they can totally hang out again, and when Roland sticks out his pinky, Henry just smothers a laugh and links it with his own. Roland only pauses for more oxygen when Robin sits back down next to her, and teases him about drawing breath, lest he pass out.

Roland pokes his tongue out, prompting an amused eye roll from his father. “And to think, there was a time when I couldn’t wait for that boy to start talking,” he mutters as Ruby brings their food over. He shoots her a smirk before pulling the boys into a conversation about their respective plans for the day - Roland seems to be unable to decide if he wants to explore the town or the woods, Henry pulls a face and mumbles something about fishing with Leroy.

She tunes in and out, plays with her breakfast (oatmeal with a side of fruit) and pretends to not see the side long glances Robin keeps giving her as he tells her son that he’s more than welcome to spend today with them while his mother and Regina work.

“What’s that?” Roland snaps her back to the present when he bounces up onto his knees and points across to where the storybook is poking out the top of her purse, even using one of her larger ones still left a third of it visible.

“It’s a book, sweetheart,” she says, not bothering to fight the small smile when all that does is make Roland wriggle in the seat a little to try and get a better view of the gold lettering scrawled across the well-loved leather cover. Robin clears his throat a little and draws her attention to where Henry is now trying to catch a peek at it.

“Can I have a look at it?”

Robin cuts in before she can answer. “How about you finish your food first, and then maybe once your hands aren’t covered in syrup, you can ask about looking at the book?” He looks pointedly down at the half eaten maple smothered waffles on his plate.

“What kind of book is it?” Henry asks when Roland dives back into his no doubt mostly cold breakfast. “It looks kind of old.”

“Fairy tales mostly. Though they’re a bit different from the usual ones people read. It belonged to someone very important to me,” she says, the hand around her spoon clenching because all she can think is _it’s yours, it belonged to you_. Robin drops a hand to her knee, gives it a reassuring squeeze, his thumb stroking back and forth as she reminds herself how to breathe normally. “You, um, you can look at it too, if you want to that is. Your mom,” she can feel a small part of herself dying every time she has to act like Emma is his only mother, “told us you like reading.” She can read the intrigue on his face; he might not have all his memories just yet, but he’s still her little boy, she can still read him better than anyone.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” she assures. “Besides, it’s a little heavy, you keeping an eye on it while I help your mother with her case would actually be doing me a favour. That way I don’t have to carry it around until I can get to my office.” Regina hefts the book out of her bag and across the table to him when he eagerly moves his empty plate out of the way. Roland shovels the last bite of waffle into his mouth before proudly showing his only slightly sticky hands to his father, he scrunches his nose up when Robin just raises his eyebrows at the maple stains on his fingers. She digs out a travel sized bottle of hand sanitizer and drops a blob of it into his open palms. “There, all clean.”

Henry is already thumbing through the pages (she tries not to grind her teeth every time she sees a depiction of herself flick past, but it’s a near thing), though he angles the book so that Roland can see too, and flips the pages back to the beginning. She leans into Robin’s side a little heavier - she knows Henry reading that blasted book is the best bet for them to break the curse, but seeing him with it causes acid to burn it’s way through her gut, bubbling away as every single time he’d thrown her past in her face is replaying in her mind. Like an old movie real from a projector. Robin, though he only knows the little of what she’s told him about the last few years of hers and Henry’s relationship, just tangles their fingers together under the table - ever mindful of letting her make the first moves in public - and stays silent with his support.

Ruby comes over to clear the table, stacking plates haphazardly before frowning at the barely touched bowl in front of Regina, fruit mostly gone but oatmeal still pretty much all there. “You done with that, Madam Mayor?”

Avoiding looking directly at Robin, though she can feel the sigh he lets out at her food, she nods. “Probably still full from yesterday,” she offers up the paper-thin excuse, but Ruby seems to buy it, shrugging and dropping the cheque down before scooping it up with the other empty dinnerware and stepping away.

The boys are completely engrossed in the book, Roland tracing the faces of people he recognises with feather light fingers as Henry reads quietly to him. Regina watches them for a moment or two (or ten), soaks in the sight of her son and Robin’s reading from the same book -she thinks they almost look like brothers.  If she ignores the missing memories, or the fact that despite their soulmate status (that only she knows about still) she and Robin have barely started seeing each other, it doesn’t quite hit her like a sucker punch.

Regina lets herself pretend that this is the new normal for a little while longer, a few more turned pages, before she digs out enough cash to cover all of their breakfasts, hushing Henry’s protest and pointedly ignoring Robin’s grumbling about her paying. “I should go and find Emma,” she says to Robin.

“Alright,” he slips out from the booth, her coat somehow in his hands, to allow her to stand.

“Are you sure you don’t want this back?” Henry moves as if to close the book.

“No… no you keep it for now, I’ll get it back later,” Regina assures him, like she wasn’t carrying the damn thing around with the sole purpose of gifting it to him somehow anyway. “Besides, something tells me you’ll get more enjoyment out of that thing than I will.”

“I’ll be back in a moment, boys. Roland, stay with Henry, alright?” Roland, engrossed as he is in the pages of Ella’s rags to riches story, mumbles _uh-huh_ and waves a tiny hand like he’s dismissing them. “There was a time that boy would hang off my every word,” Robin says as they move towards the back corridor.

“That’s because he’s developing taste.” She yelps when he tugs her into him, hands on her hips, her own moving to settle on his chest to stop her from colliding with him completely.

“And what, _Your Majesty_ , does it say about your taste if you’re spending an awful lot of time with a lowly thief like myself?”

“Well you know what they say - no accounting for taste,” Regina teases back. It’s odd, how easy and natural being with him comes to her, but she’s starting to crave it now. The easy back and forth, the fact that even before they knew each other Robin never looked at her with fear, or mistrust, how he’s always gone toe to toe with her from the beginning. How he’s trusted her around his son, his world, from day one.

“Ah, I see then, so you’d be opposed, would you, if I were to kiss you right now?” He’s grinning at her, not even trying to hide it, as he pulls her closer, one hand sliding up her spine to curl around her jaw.

Regina doesn’t even try to smother her matching smile, lets its spread molasses slow from one cheek to the other and says “So very, very opposed,” even she presses herself against him and bumps her nose against his.

“Yes I can tell,” he jokes but then she’s rolling her eyes and pushing herself up that last inch to press her lips against his, and whatever he was going to say next is cut off. Regina is still smiling as she kisses him, can’t wipe the grin away for the life of her even as her tongue is dipping out to brush against his. Robin groans quietly and wraps an arm around her back while the hand at her jaw holds her to him, her own fingers grip at his jacket. A good thing too, because her knees feel a bit unsteady after that.

“What was I doing again?” She breathes out when they separate, foreheads resting together and her eyes still closed (though when they slipped shut she has no idea).

A soft laugh rumbles through his chest, vibrates against where her fingers rest, and he drops a kiss to the tip of her nose before finding her mouth again - pulling back each time she tries to deepen it much to her frustration. He nips at her lips - bottom, top, then bottom again - gives a lingering bite that tugs at her bottom lip slightly when he pulls back once more and makes her insides flip, and her thighs clench, and a pathetic sounding whimper gets lodged in her throat.

“I believe you were going to meet the Charmings to tell them about the book, milady,” he says, like he hasn’t just rearranged her world view, though she takes a little comfort in how unsteady his voice is. “Then I think there was something about getting some work done before your sister rears her green head again.”

She makes a noncommittal noise,  moving her hands to settle over his heart now that she is a bit steadier on her feet, strokes her fingers back and forth over the gentle thud-thud-thudding of his heartbeat absently until he covers them. Squeezing at her still moving fingers, not to make them stop, but to bring her back to Earth.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head, but Robin just raises an eyebrow at her, the _I don’t believe you_ clear as day. “It’s… it’s comforting. Your heartbeat,” she mutters, cursing herself when she can feel the tell-tale signs of a blush creeping up to stain her cheeks.

“We’ll get your heart back, Regina,” he says. “I swore an oath to you that I’d protect it, and that may not have gone at all according to plan, but I _will_ see that you get it back.” When all she does she half smile back at him, eyes dropping to where their hands sit on top of his sternum, he moves his free hand to tip her chin up, brings her back to being eye to eye with him. “I promise.”

“I know.”

“Then what is it?” She struggles for a moment, not completely sure of what she’s feeling herself, let alone of how to put it into coherent words. So he changes the subject. “What’s it feel like?” He asks, “not having it, I mean.... Can you…”

“Feel?” She asks. “Yes. Not fully, it’s… muffled? I guess would be a good word. Everything is still there, it’s just _less_. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“So don’t,” he squeezes at their join hands again, “use mine for the both us.” And he’s so earnest, eyes completely open as she stares at him in disbelief that someone could look at her, could want her, like this knowing about her past as he does, that Regina feels her absent heart skip and pulls him back in by the collar of his shirt once more.

* * *

Snow had been ecstatic when she told them she’d found the book, so was David, and Emma had pasted on a smile and agreed with every word her parents said. But Regina is starting to get a handle on reading Emma Swan too, she can see the uncertainty behind her eyes, though as long as Henry starts to remember her, remember them, she finds herself not really caring much. At least not until it proves to be something to worry about.

She leaves them at Granny’s to head to her office, tells Emma that Henry is currently with Robin and Roland before she leaves - she figures Emma will call their son to double check or see if it’s changed, has to remind herself that she can’t, she’s not his mother just yet, he’d find it strange. The fingers off her right hand are twitching inside the pockets of her coat when she reaches the Town Hall, though she’s been feeling shivers in the lower halves of her arms since waking up and nothing too terrible has happened yet. So she puts it down to a good day and rules out doing anything not on her computer, or that needs more than her signature.

Sighing, Regina leans back against the wall beside the closed door of her office once she’s made it past the eyes of her assistant. God, she wants this day to be over already and it’s not even noon yet. Wants the last few nightmarish weeks to be over too.

She really fucking hopes that giving Henry the book works. Hopes with everything she has in her battered soul that it brings her little boy back to her - the irony isn’t lost on her. The book that helped tear them apart is her best hope at bringing them back together. And isn’t that just something?

Sitting at her desk, she lets her head drop into her shaking hands, presses weakly at her temples and tells herself she has five more minutes to have her little tantrum but then she has to do some actual work. The town hasn’t really had anyone running it since the first curse broke, no one ever wanted to take over her office, and she could hardly work while Cora was around, or while she was running all over Neverland looking for her son. So while it has yet to fall into chaos, that doesn’t mean it won’t if no one makes sure it keeps working.

Maybe waiting until Zelena is stopped, and the curse is over, and the world is back to as normal as it gets is forgivable, no one can really begrudge her taking time off while she tries to solve the latest Big Bad. But she’s going mad. Sitting at home _waiting_ for her deranged sister to make the next move, trying to figure out what that move might be, isn’t doing her sanity any favours and the added stress definitely isn’t helping her health. Work was a distraction during the first years of the curse, before she got Henry, and it was a distraction when Henry started pulling away from her.

She needs it to be a distraction again.

Her cell ringing and makes her jump, fingers spasming on the keyboard and pulling her focus from her backlog of emails to where it skitters across the top of her desk. She debates ignoring it before she sees Emma’s name on the caller ID and then she’s scrambling to pick it up; her fingers are still jittery and it takes her a few tries to hit the answer button, she’s still trying to get used to all the new and updated technology built into the new curse.

“Emma?”

“He’s gone,” Emma’s voice greets her, tight with annoyance.

“What?”

“ _Henry_ , he’s gone, and the little shit left his phone at Granny’s before sneaking out when Ruby wasn’t looking.” There’s a frustrated huff and rustling noises - like Emma’s pacing or hunting through something in their room. “The book’s gone too. God I’m gonna…” she cuts herself off with a growl. “He knows that it’s not safe right now, he _knows_ that - why the hell did he leave?”

There is a very small, petty, dark part of her that thinks _now you know what it feels like realising he’s run away from you._ But she swallows it back and instead says, “I’ll get a location spell and call you back. We’ll find him, Emma.”

“Where the hell would he go?” Emma mutters as she hangs up on her end.

Regina takes a deep breathe, wills her hands to stop shaking (or at least refrain from getting worse) and yanks open the bottom drawer of her desk, knocking things left and right until her fingers wrap themselves around smooth, tempered glass bottle holding a location spell. She grabs her coat, yanks it on and shoves her cell and the bottle into the pocket before tearing out of her office - she doesn’t even say anything to shocked _Madam Mayor?_ her assistant calls after her, one thought running in circles through her head.

_Where would you go, Henry?_

* * *

She sends Emma a text (just a cursory _he’s with me, he’s safe,_ ) when she finds him, sitting on the bench where his weather-worn castle used to stand. Her pulse begins to calm at the sight of him, she blinks back relieved tears and her breath catches between her mouth and lungs. Regina watches him for another handful of seconds, reassures herself that he is okay, that he’s unharmed and _safe_ , before moving to fold herself onto the rain damp wood next to him.

She never says a word, just makes sure her body language is open, keeps her eyes on the horizon, the gentle back and forth of the tide, and waits.

“Why do I remember this place?” Henry’s voice is barely distinguishable, and though it’s phrased like a question, she knows he’s not looking, not yet, for her to answer. So she stays quiet, but tilts her head towards him, makes it obvious that she’s listening. “Like… I don’t remember it, not- not clearly anyway. But everything is…” He trails off and grinds his teeth together.

“Familiar,” she says.

“Yeah,” Henry answers, nodding as he glances over at her eyes wide and confused, and it breaks her heart a little bit, because all she wants to do is pull him into her, wrap her arms around him and promise that everything would be okay. Just like she did when he was tiny and mommy was enough to scare off the nightmares. “I don’t understand…”

“I know you don’t, Henry.” Regina sighs, presses her lips together and tries to work out exactly how she needs to go about this. “I know everything is a mess right now, but it will make sense, okay?” When he shrugs and starts to curl in on himself Regina tucks a finger under his chin, brings his eyes up to hers even as she ducks down. “Hey, I promise, and I don’t break my promises.”

“I know you, don’t I?” He says, and he looks so confused that all she wants to do is say yes, and tell him everything, tell him who she is. But he needs to remember for himself, so Regina forces a smile, a brief impression of a thing, and blinks back the moisture building in her eyes. Henry drops his eyes and pulls the book onto his lap.

“I should call your m-mom, let her know that you’re okay,” she says as she looks away, blinking rapid-fire and fumbling for her phone.

“Please don’t.”

“Sweetheart, she needs to know that you’re safe,” Regina reasons, forcing down memories of jumping for the phone every time it rang only to realise it wasn’t Graham telling her he had her boy, or Henry himself to say he was nearly home. “She’s worried sick.”

“I-I know, just not yet? _Please_.”

She bites her lip, cell held tight in her fist and her eyes locked with his before she nods. “Alright,” she agrees.

“She keeps lying about this place. Or she avoids the question - she’s _never_ done that before. Wh-why is she doing it now?”

“Henry…”

“Why did you give me this book?”

Regina drags in a shaky breath, looks back out to the ocean again and tries to unmuddle everything in her head enough to explain, or explain it so she doesn’t look crazy. She is painfully aware that he knows she’s stalling, but he doesn’t say anything, just turns his focus to the book and opens it to the middle. To a picture of her. The Evil Queen in all her terrible glory. Gritting her teeth she uses the lack of his attention to send a text ( _Henry’s castle)_ and hopes that Emma gets here quick enough to convince him.

“That book, it… I used to hate that thing.” She starts to repeat what she’d told him at breakfast, before backtracking. She won’t lie to him, not anymore, not ever again. “All I wanted was for it to be gone and _stay gone._ ” She turns back to him then, can see the confusion on his face and the corner of her mouth tugs up, lopsided and half-hearted. “Sometimes stories have a way of making you see things differently, and I didn’t like what it was making people see… about me, about them.”

Henry’s frown deepens. “It’s just a story.”

And if only that were true. “Someone very special to me used to tell me that they were real. That even if it was a story, it was _someone’s_ story - someone’s life.”

“Fairytales?”

“Why not? Legends have element of truth in them - why not fairy tales too?” She can see the wheels turning in his head, and he is still so very clever that it takes her breath away a little, and she desperately wants to tell him. Wants to tell him that every single thing that happens on those pages happened to someone very real, and though he might be open to it - something is telling him to be open to it, she can tell, she knows her son even if he doesn’t know her - he’s not there yet. Reaching over Regina closes the book, eases it from his tight grip and places it back down on the bench next to him. “Look, Henry -”

“Well isn’t this sweet?”

Ice races down her spine and every single cell in her body freezes before she’s standing up and placing herself between Henry and Zelena. “You stay the hell away from him.”

“Or what?” Zelena grins at her, head tilted to the side as her gaze flicks between them, malicious and calculating. “What’s the matter little sister? Did I interrupt a family moment?”

“What is she talking about?” Henry is standing now too, half behind her with the book cradled in his arms, and though she doesn’t take her eyes off of Zelena, she can see the fear on his face from her periphery.

“Nothing, Henry - she’s just trying to scare you,” she says. “She’s _no one._ ”

Zelena just looks delighted. “That’s not true though, is it Regina?” Her grin bordering on manic now. “I’m your Auntie Zelena, dear.”

“Henry, run,” Regina cuts in before anything else can be said. “Go, Henry!” She shouts when he doesn’t move, she tells herself that getting him out of harm's way is more important than not scaring him when he jumps. But he moves, he backs away from them, slow and hesitant at first but getting quicker. And when Zelena makes to follow him Regina is throwing her hand out and sending her flying backwards.

“No! You don’t get to go near him!” She screams, sends another wave of magic towards her that the bitch only barely dodges as fury builds inside her. How _dare_ she go after her son? “You want to screw with my life because you’re jealous, fine, but you go near my son and I will _rip you apart_.”

Zelena is laughing as she gets back up, and it just makes her angrier. Snarling Regina curls her hand again, she has no idea what the hell kind of magic she’s going to do, just knows that she needs to do _something_ \- every single part of her being is screaming at her to protect her child, _protect Henry, keep him safe_ \- that she doesn’t even care. Just throws everything she has at Zelena.

It’s not enough. She’s ready for it this time. Braces herself and swipes it away like it’s nothing and dread settles in Regina’s stomach, lead and heavy and toxic, because she cannot lose. She can’t lose when she still isn’t sure that Henry got away completely, that Emma found him and that Zelena won’t get near him. She can’t lose yet.

Gritting her teeth and squaring her shoulders she blocks the wave of green magic, gets a shield up between her and the hex with seconds to spare and she still feels it rattle through her skeleton. She’s not quite quick enough, jarred as she is from the strength of that blow, to fight of the next. She hears someone scream her name as she’s hurled backwards over the bench, can hear running as her head cracks on the ground before the lights wink out and everything goes dark.

* * *

“Mom, _Mom_ c’mon, Mom wake up,” Henry’s begging her. His voice coming in and out of focus like a badly tuned radio. “Mom, _please_ wake up.” She needs to get up. She needs to open her fucking eyes if only to stop her son from worrying. It’s the thought that as far as she was aware, Henry still lacked any of his memories that has her fighting to peel her eyes open.

She hisses a little when the light blinds her for a moment, scrunches her eyes closed and clenches her jaw before she tries again, moving to sit and cursing under her breath when her head spins. Forcing the pain down and ignoring the queasyness swirling around her gut Regina opens her eyes again to see Henry kneeling in front of her, hands around her shoulders while Emma hovers in the background.

“Mom!”

“Henry?” He helps her to her feet, hands still tight about her arms. And she’s unsteady on her feet, the world still tilts to and fro but none that matters because he recognises her. Her son knows who she is, he’s calling her mom again, and damn she was not prepared for how it would feel.  “Henry… you’re okay?” Her gaze becomes a little frantic as she looks him over, making sure her sister never managed to lay a finger on him, her hands skim over his arms before she cups his cheeks. “Are you hurt - did you she touch you?”

“No,” he says before throwing his arms around her waist in a hug, and he squeezes her a little too tight (she’s been neglecting healing herself, opting to stockpile her magic for using against Zelena instead of healing bruises) but Regina just tightens her own arms, clings a little. “No, she didn’t hurt me.”

“You remember?” He nods against her chest, still burrowed into her and unwilling to let go, though she’s even less inclined to let him go just yet. Knowing she’s unlikely to get a coherent answer from him for the moment she looks up until her eyes settle on a  damp eyed Emma. She shrugs and lifts the book up, half smiling, and Regina feels something tight in her chest relax. “I am never letting you go away again,” she whispers before ducking down to press her lips to his forehead.

It doesn’t even register at first. She feels the rush of wind but it’s not until that’s passed through her, and she feels the warmth start to tingle from the space where her heart should sit that Regina even opens her eyes. She’s only ever felt something like this once before - when Henry was in the hospital and Emma broke the first curse - but it’s amplified. It spreads through her, flows from where her lips are still pressed in a kiss to Henry’s brow all the way to her toes and steals the breath from her lungs.

All at once it all comes rushing back. Every single second she’s lived and forgotten since watching Emma drive away with her heart in her battered yellow bug slams into her. For a moment it’s like she’s living through it all again, then her eyes snap open and for the first time since waking back up in her bed alone and confused and not know what the fuck was going on, the world doesn’t look quite so bleak.

For the first time in over a year she can breathe again.

* * *

Regina drops Henry off at the cemetery, assures him that they’ll have more time to catch up soon, but he wants to say goodbye to Neal properly, and though she’s wiped away the blood trickling down her face she still feels close to vomiting. She’d really rather not do that in front of him.

So she arranges to meet Emma there with him so she can go and find her parents - Regina refuses to tell her how the curse was cast, tells her it’s not her place and to leave it at that - and takes her time getting him there. He spends the whole time they wait for Emma and his grandparents to show up rambling away about his year in New York. He seems almost desperate for her to know every detail, jumping from one subject to another and she soaks in every single word, just as eager as he is. When the Charmings arrive she wraps him up and hug, presses a kiss to his hair and promises him she’ll see him soon. He’s flinging himself into David’s arms as she climbs back into her car, she seems him move onto Snow as she pulls away.

She’s not entirely sure how she makes it back to Town Hall without having to pull over, but against all odds she does, she even makes it behind the privacy of her closed office door before her stomach revolts and she’s throwing up into her trash can as her head cleaves open. A concussion, she guesses as soon as she has her wits back, bent over in her desk chair, one hand keeping her hair out of her sweaty face while the other rubs lightly over her hairline.

Her hands have been shaking all day, but she can’t tell right away if the way her fingers vibrate against the tender bump buried beneath her hair is because she just threw up every meal she’s eaten in the last two weeks, or if it’s more than that. When her stomach starts to settle but her right side keeps trembling she almost wants to roll her eyes. Because of _course_ it’s more than an after effect from being ill - she isn’t that lucky.

In the grand scheme of things it’s not a bad one. She manages to stay in her chair, she doesn’t slip to the floor and only her right side rebels against her, something Regina is starting to take as a win - especially now she can remember how terrifying it was to wake up after one not knowing what the hell had happened. She just grits her teeth, tries to breathe through it and waits it out.

She still finds herself panting ever so slightly when it eases off, her skin is sticky and clammy and it makes her itch. She’s already exhausted, but the smell from the trash can is starting to make her feel ill again, and the last thing Regina wants to do get sick once more, so she ignores the double edged sword that is using magic after a seizure and waves her hand over it, erasing all traces of vomit from both the trash and the inside of her mouth. Dizziness washes over her in a wave but at least the taste and smell is gone; a short dizzy spell is better than that.

Regina is still sitting there, hunched over, elbow on knees with her head cradled in barely trembling hands when her door opens and Robin is stepping through it. “Regina, I - what’s wrong?”

“Hmm?” She sits up too fast - her spins and for a horrifying moment she thinks her stomach might attempt to expel its already empty contents again. Swallowing back bile she shakes her head at him. “I’m okay,” she says, “really.” When he continues to look unconvinced she changes tactics. “It broke,” she points out, and even though she still feel like she’s gone ten rounds with Charming’s truck she can’t stop the smile the inches across her face.

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Robin says as he walks over to her. He looks far more relaxed than when he first burst into her office and she finds herself even more glad that she’d risked using magic to clean up after herself; he spent a good part of the last year helping her clean up after falling to pieces, he didn’t need to see it again. “I was looking for you.”

“I was with Henry…it wasn’t Emma.” She whispers the last bit, still in disbelief over it, she never would have thought it would be anyone _but_ Emma to break it.

“What wasn’t Emma?”

He’s close enough to touch now, has rounded her desk to stand just before where she’s seated and she has to crane her neck just so to keep eye contact. Regina reaches for him on instinct, tugs him closer to wrap her arms around his waist comfortably and props her chin on stomach as he looks up at him. It makes her breathless, how he looks at her. Even now, even with memories of him looking at her like this during that missing year, when he starts to comb his fingers through her hair, absent and gentle, her empty cavity where her heart should lie jolts and she wonders how in the hell she is allowed to have this.

“The curse - it wasn’t Emma who broke it -it,” she laughs, clears her throat and tries again, “it was me. I kissed Henry. He remembered who I was and I kissed him… and it… it broke.” She flounders a little bit, the whole thing seems a little surreal, True Love’s Kiss isn’t something she’s ever been allowed, it’s still taking its time to sink in.

“Speaking of the curse breaking, we got along much quicker over here, _Your Majesty._ ” He’s teasing her, giving her the option to change the subject without looking like it’s changed completely, or continuing.

Her phone beeps to signal a text, followed by five more in quick succession that has her pulling a face and dropping her head forward to press her forehead into his torso. She doesn’t want to leave this bubble, fragile and fabricated as it is, that they’ve created for themselves here, but her phone dings again, and again, and again, and she knows she has to. Sighing Regina stands up, stilling leaning into Robin and she tilts her head up to brush a light kiss over his lips.

She pulls back before he can deepen it, but only a fraction, enough to stop it progressing but close enough that when she breathes out “You’re much less annoying in this realm,” he can feel as well as hear the words. It takes a great deal of willpower to pull back another handful of inches and turn her attention to her phone rather than the way that Robin’s eyes have darkened, or how he’s teeth frame his bottom lip ( _fuck she really wants those to be her teeth.)_

She blinks at her phone as she sees the notifications. Scrolls through the messages from Emma, Henry and even David, as she swallows back any apprehension and turns to face Robin.

“Snow’s in labour.”

* * *

She should not be doing this, should really not be doing this in the middle of the day on the floor in her office. Half of her thinks she should suggest going back to her house but then Robin moves from her mouth to brush feather-light kisses across her neck and all rational thought abandons her. Regina manages to focus long enough to flick her fingers and lock the door before sinking into the rug beneath her.

They’d come here for just a moment alone, because leaving Henry with Emma and his baby uncle and Roland with newly human again Little John didn’t mean they wouldn’t be interrupted. As had already been proven. All she’d wanted was to be alone for the moment her heart went back into her chest, and after the phone rang five times in as many minutes she drove them into town instead.

The picnic Robin had shown up with lay forgotten a few feet away as he traced the tendons of her neck with his tongue and turned her into a whimpering mess of a woman. She feels a smirk forming against her skin after she can’t quite muffle her sharp gasp when his teeth graze where her jaw meets her neck. She moves one hand from where she’s gripping at his sweater to tangle in his hair (that really should not take as much effort as it does) and pulls, grining and growing more slick at the sound he lets out. He may be slowly turning her into a mess, but Regina refuses go down without taking him with her.

His mouth finds her ear and whispers _that’s cheating, love_ into it before he’s biting down on her earlobe and she struggles to breathe out “You started it,” and “oh, _God._ ”

“Not God.” She doesn’t even need to see his face to know he’s wearing the same shit-eating grin he’d had for most of their time in the Enchanted Forest.

“You’re insufferable,” she chokes out.

“Mhm, you’ve said that before,” he says before dropping his mouth back to her skin, lower this time. “Would you like me to stop?” Robin asks, punctuates it with a sucking bite to her collarbone that has her toes curling.

“Don’t you dare,” she hisses and brings her knees up to bracket his hips more comfortably.

“As my lady wishes.” He’s still got that smug little smile as his hands drop to where the hem of her dress has risen up her thighs, drags his fingernails over her nylon covered legs before he starts to inch it higher and higher. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“You didn’t - _shit_ \- didn’t even kn-know me,” she stutters as she lifts her hips to help him push her dress even higher.

He leans up for a desperate kiss, hands still shoving her grey dress up until it’s twisted around her waist and he clearly decides it’s far enough. “Not the point,” he says against her mouth, groaning when her hips grind against his. “I missed you.”

Biting at his lip, Regina unclenches her fingers from his hair to fumble the buttons his shirt - his sweater is long gone but for the life of her she has no idea when or how that happened - before shoving it off his shoulders, raking her nails down his chest and revelling in the sound that he lets out. “What did you miss?”

Robin leans back from her long enough to free his arms from his shirt before he’s back on her, hands grasping at her hips and yanking her tights down. Once they’re off and thrown aside his fingers trace along the edges of her black lace thong. “Missed this,” he says, playfully glaring at her when she snorts.

“You’ve never seen that before.”

“I wasn’t talking about your underwear, milady. Though,” he says as he slips his fingers just under, runs them along her skin instead of the fabric and makes her back arch _just so_ , “I am very much a fan.” He winks at her before getting a grip on the scrap of lace (barely) covering her, tugs it down and throws it to the side.

Regina laughs at that, she doesn’t even try to smother it for once as her own hands tuck under the waistband of his jeans. “I’m sure you are.” She shivers, biting down on her lip when his fingertips ghost up the outside of her legs to grip at her hips. Her eyes slip shut her against her will. She so very much wants to see this, wants to make sure he is seared into her memory, but he’s pressing kisses with just enough teeth to the tendons of her neck and he knows, the smug bastard _knows_ now what that does to her.

Not one to back down, even in bed, Regina slips one hand into the back of his jeans, grabs at his ass and squeezes, nails biting in even as her eyes roll back in her skull when his hips jolt forward against her and his teeth clamp down harder. When he moans into her neck, _Gods, love,_ she can’t help but repeat his own words back to him. “Not god.”

She yelps at the sharp nip he gives her, grinning when he pulls back to lean over her, nose to nose. “If we had more time, _Your Majesty,_ ” she trembles just a little bit when he says that, blue eyes blown back, “I’d make you pay for that sass.”

“Promises, promises.” She’s still smiling, she can feel the ache of it in her cheeks, but Regina can not find it in her to care when she has the man she loves pinning her into her office floor, looking at her like she is everything good in this world, and the next. Lifting herself up she pulls him back into a kiss, teases at his lips with small bites before she slips her tongue past them, revelling in the groan he lets out that she call feel vibrate through her.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he says as he pulls back from kissing her to breathe, fighting back a whimper Regina settles for sucking her way along his jawline to his ear.

“You’ve already said that, dear.”

“I have,” he agrees, and he shifts back a little more so that she can no longer reach him as comfortably, much to her displeasure. “So maybe I should show you.”

She’ll go to her grave denying it, but the way he looks at her like she’s good enough to eat - she whimpers a little at that thought; she’s really missed his mouth - makes her clench her thighs around his hips as her own jerk upwards a fraction. And shit, if he hadn’t lifted his denim covered crotch away from hers she just _knows_ it would be beyond clear how turned on she is. As it is she lets out a truly pathetic whimper when he pushes her dress up higher and shifts down, dropping a kiss to her naval.

Regina’s mind whites out when he _finally_ presses a kiss to her clit. He chuckles, mumbles _fuck, missed this the most_ against where she’s warm and wet and so, so ready for him. There is a very, very small part of her that thinks she ought to be embarrassed at the way her hips jerk up into his face, chasing his mouth. But when he licks her from entrance to clit, sucking once before working his way back down, she really can’t find it in her to care how wanton she is.

Robin, for his part, seems more and more delighted with every buck of her pelvis, every whimper or sharp cry that she lets out, he just adjusts his grip on her thighs and pulls her in tighter. He flicks between thrusting his tongue inside of her (when her hips try to follow it, try to fight against the oh-so-firm hold he has on them, he laughs darkly, she can feel it vibrate up the length of her spine) and deep sucking bites at her clit that have her back arching, toes curling, and curses falling from her lips.

He pulls back every time she gets even remotely close to the edge, has her so wound up that she thinks if he breathes on her just right she will come harder than she ever has. She’s shaking by the time he eases off a third time, but this time when she all but sobs out his name, pants (desperately, there is no way her tone is anything but desperate) out threats of fireballs and private areas if he doesn’t _finish what you fucking started, thief_ , he kisses his way up her stomach. Ignores her whines and the weak shove she gives his shoulders, ignores her plaintive _no, go back,_ as he starts to shove her dress up higher.

Eventually she shifts around to make it easier, lifts her back a little so he can slide a hand under, tug the zipper down - awkward and halting with how the dress is bunched and twisted up by her ribs - and shove it up and over her head. The way his eyes zero in on the sheer black, patterned lace of her bra makes her clench, lip held between her teeth and the fleeting thought of her dress creasing if it’s left in a pile disappears at the groan that slips past his clenched jaw.  

“Still a fan?” And she can’t help it, she really can’t - her arms are above her shoulders slightly from helping him get rid of her clothing, and it’s all too easy to stretch them further, to curve her spine just right so her breasts push up against the flimsy material.

Regina smirks when she sees his eyes flash, yelping when there are warm hands either side of her waist yanking her down so he doesn’t have to bend so far before he’s mapping out the edging of her last remaining item of clothing with his tongue. “Very, _very,_ much so.”

Her own hands move to fumble at his waist band, taking a few tries before she manages to slip the button through the hole and force the zipper down, her breath stuttering slightly at the feel of him - warm and hard and _hers_ \- against the back of her hand. Teeth dig into the hollow between her breasts when she wraps her fingers around him through cotton and squeezes.

Part of her wants payback. Wants to wind him up, and up, and up until he is a mess of a man underneath her. But she is still so tightly wound herself that, however tempting it might be, the memory of having him inside of her wins out. “Are you done teasing, now?” She punctuates it with a slow pump through his boxers, and she feels a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth when he breaths out, sharp and stuttering, against her chest.

Regina gives him one last squeeze before she’s pushing the waistbands of his jeans and boxers (far too impatient to do it one at a time) below his ass. It takes Robin a few seconds to catch up but when he does he kicks his pants off, boxers following soon after while she takes care of the bra that is now twisted around her. He pouts a little when he sees it’s gone before his attention is back on her now bare breasts, and oh, he is _such_ a man, but he is _hers_ , and any thoughts she had against letting him fuck her on the floor of her (completely public) office vanish when he slips inside of her at last.

“I missed this,” she whispers to him once his hips have met hers and she no longer feels like the air has been punched from her lungs at how _right_ it feels to be like this with him. To be with him in general. To be _his._ Her eyes flutter and close as she clenches around him. “Missed you.”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t seem to be able to but it feels like he’s looking right into her very being when her eyes open and lock with his. He stays still, one hand curled around where her thigh is bent next to his hips while other brushes sweat damp hair back from her face. Ducking down, he bumps her nose with his, rubs over it feather light before dipping to brush an even softer kiss against her mouth. And when he finally moves, finally pulls back before pushing in and making every single nerve in her body sing, she thinks she might finally be ready to say that she loves him.

* * *

They’re more than a little bit late for picking Roland up. He doesn’t notice, but John and the rest of Robin’s men certainly do if the raised eyebrows and pointed looks are anything to go by.

“It’s good to see you again, Your Majesty.” John greets her while Robin is trying to hurry Roland along with getting himself ready to go. She’s a little shocked to see he’s smiling slightly at her - they’d never really gotten along back in the Enchanted Forest, even when they’d stopped being outright antagonistic, or after she and Robin grew closer. He must see the confusion on her face because he chuckles and shoves his hands deep into his pockets before answering. “I know we didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye last year, but er, both those boys adore you. Figure that should be good enough for me.” He shrugs, like he’s trying to make his words less than what they are, before starting to back away.

“John?” she calls him back. “Everyone here calls me Regina.” It’s as close to thank you as he will probably ever get, but it seems to be more than enough for him as he grins and nods back at her before joining Tuck and the men sat around the fire.

Robin walks back over, Roland trailing behind finally in his coat and gloves and beanie, a small smile on his face. “What?” she asks.

He bites at his lip (he knows what that does to her, the bastard) and shakes his head. “Nothing. Just odd to see you two trading anything but barbs, is all…” He smirks as he trails off, snickering when she rolls her eyes, huffs and shoves at his shoulder. It looks like he might continue teasing her but Roland is caught up to where they stand by then, having said goodbye to his uncles, and is tugging on Robin’s jacket. Robin, for his part, just sighs in mock exasperation and crouches down to let him clamber onto his back. “Not so tight, son,” he wheezes out when Roland’s grip about his neck is a bit too enthusiastic.

She hasn’t told him yet. Hasn’t said the words but they are sitting right there, on the tip of her tongue, as she watches him bounce a few times telling a giggling Roland that he’s just testing to make sure he doesn’t drop him.

“What?”

Regina shakes her head, smiles at where Roland’s face peeks over his shoulder, bright and giddy, and she thinks her heart might actually burst because this is it, isn’t it? This is the start of her being happy. She has her son back, she is back in a land that doesn’t constantly remind her of old lives and lived through nightmares, and she has Robin and his son. She might actually get to be happy for once, and she has no idea of how to put that into words, because it is everything to her. “Nothing, come on, I believe I promised a certain young Knight some ice cream.”

Roland chatters away while they walk back towards Main Street, telling them both all about his day, even the parts that they were both with him for in the morning. She can’t stop herself from smiling and sharing glances with Robin as his son babbles away from his back, bouncing whenever he gets a little more excited about whatever he’s telling them about.

“Regina?” Roland stretches out the last syllable of her name, and it’s so very like the whining _Moooom?_ that Henry would use whenever he wanted something that she has to smother a laugh before answering him.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can we do something fun tomorrow?”

“I’m sure we can come up with something, yes.”

Roland nods, seemingly satisfied before he’s turning to look at her again. “Can we go for a picnic like we use’ to in the ‘chanted Forest?”

Robin answers him this time, “We’ll have to see Roland, it might be a bit too cold for that right now. Maybe when it’s warmer, yeah?”

Roland sighs and agrees, but he looks so put out that Regina steps in a little closer to them, rubs a hand up and down his little spine and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Hey,” she taps the tip of his nose when he looks towards her again, eyes crossing and giggling. “We’ll have a picnic tomorrow, I promise.” The grin that splits his face when she holds out a gloved pinky finger for him to link with makes her heart clench, and _oh how she loves that little boy._

“You do realise, milady,” Robin starts, brows raised as he shifts Roland a little higher while they make their way past the Toll Bridge and onto paved streets at last (she really needs to remember to stop walking around woods in heels). “That tomorrow is probably not going to be that much warmer than today?”

“Of course I do.”

“Of course,” Robin says. “Then how, pray tell, are we going to have a picnic in this weather with a five year old?”

Regina smiles at him, winks at Roland who is also listening in, clearly starting to wonder the same thing. “You, Mr Locksley, are underestimating me.”

“Yeah, Daddy!” Roland cuts in, looking oh so proud of himself just as Robin goes to answer her back.

“Oi!” He throws a look over his shoulder to where Roland is grinning back at him. “You are meant to be on my side.”

“Nu-uh!” Roland shakes his head, “Regina knows better.”

“Yeah, Regina knows better.” She can’t help but tease him, biting back a smile that is sure to stretch from ear to ear.

Robin narrows his eyes at her before he’s swinging Roland around from his place on his back, holding him half upside down in one arm and tickling him with the other. She has a moment where she goes to move forward, hands outstretched to catch Roland, but Robin has such a firm grip on him she knows he would never drop the boy. She has seen him do this over and over during the last year, and honestly Roland seems to love it everytime his father will swing him into the air like he weighs nothing.

“Who knows better?” he asks as Roland cackles and Roland can’t see the smile on his face, but Regina can and he is so in love with his son that it makes her fall just that little bit further.

“R-regina does!” Roland shrieks, face bright red and laughing so hard that Robin eventually lets up, rotates him so he’s upright and sets him down on his feet keeping his hands on his shoulders when he sways, giggling away still.

“Well, I can see I’m not going to be able to convince you otherwise, boy.”

Roland just giggles and bites his lip (and god he looks so much like his father when he does that, never mind his colouring) before he’s darting around to Regina’s other side and grabbing her hand. “You gotsta save me!” he declares, out of breath with tears clinging to his eyelashes. “Papa’s gonna get me again.”

“Oh, no!” she gasps, eyes wide as he scoops him onto her hip. “I don’t know if I’ll be a enough to protect you, you are my bravest Knight, after all, Sir Roland.”

“Regina,” he sighs, and both her and Robin have to hold back laughs at the exasperation in his tone. “You got magic, remember?”

“You’re right, how silly of me,” she says and she hugs him tighter, her eyes slipping shut for a moment when he tucks his head into the crook of her neck. “I’ll protect you.” Roland wraps his arms around her shoulders and says _I know_ and her limbs may be starting to feel the strain of the day, but she can not think of a damn thing that would make her put him down right now.

Robin slips his own arm around her waist, bumps his hip into hers and presses a kiss to her temple. They walk the rest of the way to Any Given Sundae in silence, Roland running through the door the second she puts him down and pressing his face against the glass counter. Eager and curious as he tries to read all of the flavours. Robin sneaks in a quick peck against her lips that leaves her more breathless than she would ever care to admit, before he’s moving to crouch down beside his son, reading every flavour Roland points at.

When she moves to stand behind them, offering a fleeting smile to the blonde manning the counter, Robin glances up at her before saying “Well, why don’t we see what Regina would recommend?” He turns back to her and winks. “Since she knows best and all.”

* * *

Roland runs ahead of them towards Granny’s, waits impatiently for them to catch up and scrunches his nose when Robin stops just inside the fence and pulls her into a kiss that has her toes curling in her shoes. She is vaguely aware of Roland huffing in the background and muttering _yuck_ but Robin has one arm braced against her spine and the other cradling her jaw and for a few moments the rest of the world ceases to exist.

“We should go inside,” she whispers against his lips when they do separate.

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s leaning back in for another kiss, tongue swiping against hers and alright, maybe they can stay here for a little while longer she muses. But then Roland is calling out _I wanna go inside now_ and Robin is laughing into her mouth as he pulls back, brushes one, two, three more butterfly soft kisses across her lips before his hand is sliding from her jaw to weave with her own as he turns to where his son is frowning at them from the top step. “Alright, we’re coming!”

Roland is unamused when Robin reaches for the door. “Are you two gonna start doing all the yucky stuff again?”

“Fraid so, son.” Robin laughs and he pushes the door open to let Roland pout his way into the crowded diner. He laughs even harder when Regina jabs him in the ribs, mouths _what?_ before he points out an empty (shockingly so, really given that half the town is packed into the restaurant) booth for them to sit at.

Emma catches her eye just as she goes to follow. “Hey,” she gives a little tug to his hand, “I’m just going to talk to Emma for minute.” Robin nods, presses another fleeting kiss to her lips, and moves to help Roland navigate getting out of his outerwear and into the booth without losing any of his starting to melt ice cream. She can’t help but smile at them as she steps towards Emma, though it drops a little at how much she’s fidgeting. “What did you do?”

Emma’s mouth drops open. “Why do you assume that I did something?” When Regina rolls her eyes Emma huffs, shifts from foot to foot and makes a sharp gesture with her arms. “Alright, I _might_ have gone back in time. For a little while. Like, to before Mom and Dad met. But,” she adds, one hand raised to cut Regina off when she clenches her jaw, “only a couple of things changed, and technically everything still happened mostly the same way, so it’s fine.”

“Again, what did you do, Miss Swan?”

“I may have accidentally, and _completely unintentionally_ interrupted their first meeting.” Emma raises her hand again when Regina grits her teeth and sighs out through her nose. “But I fixed it! See, they’re together, and me and squirt both ended up being born, and so did Henry. And nobody _died_ , which was a near thing because you so nearly caught me and I now kind of get why everyone was so freaked out by you back there. You’re kinda scary, intimidating as shit too.” Emma starts to ramble, something about a ball and breaking into steal a ring and barely getting past her guards on the way out.

“Okay I think I’ve heard enough,” Regina cuts in when she starts to feel a headache form. “I still can’t believe you were stupid enough to run towards the great big beaming column of magic that you had no idea how to close alone, but congratulations, you’re not completely useless.”

Emma just rolls her eyes and grins at her. “I don’t even care, Regina. I went back to the past today, and no one died, no one hit on their parents and made everyone uncomfortable, and the timeline is pretty much as it was to start with.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose Regina just forces a smile. “Do I even want to know how you got back?”

“Rumplestiltskin. He kinda helped us out - kind of, to start with at least but then he locked us in his vault for a little while -”

“Never mind, forget I even asked. Just… asides from Gold and your parents’ meeting, did you change anything else, do we need to worry about anything?”

Frowning she shakes her head, “No, no we were pretty careful about that after the first stepping on a branch at the wrong moment incident. Gold took a memory potion to make sure he kept as close as possible to his original path, and he put a glamour spell over me and Hook. Anyone that did see or speak to us thinks we were someone else.”

“And you didn’t touch anything in his vault or bring back a souvenir?”

“I am not a child, Regina,” Emma huffs when Regina continues to stare at her. “No, I did not steal from the Dark One or bring something back with us, I’m not actually that stupid.”

“I never said a word,” Regina says. “I’ll deny this if you tell anyone, Miss Swan, but it’s good to have you back in one piece.”

Emma laughs, a delighted surprised laugh that lights up her whole face before she’s backing away towards her where her baby brother is being passed around behind them and says “Tell anyone what, Madam Mayor?” She throws a wink at her before turning to claim a cuddle with the newest Charming, leaving Regina to smother her own laugh and head back to where she left Robin.

“You alright?” Robin curls his arm around her shoulder when she slides in next to him.

“Yes,” she says. “It’s just been a long day.” She can’t help the smile that spreads across her face when he hums in agreement and ducks forward to steal a kiss much his son’s chagrin. Regina laughs when they pull back to see Roland seated across from them, remains of chocolate ice cream smeared across his cheeks as he frowns at them. “Did you enjoy that ice cream, Roland?”

It distracts him from the apparently unpleasant sight of his father kissing her. “Yeah! Can I have another one?”

“No, sweetheart, I think you should probably have some real food instead.” He pouts a little at that.

“Roland,” Robin warns when he looks like he might argue. “We all know John has let you fill yourself with nothing but sweets today, so no, you are not having another ice cream.”

Roland scrunches his nose at them and pouts, but he nods, sighs out a _fine,_ and he looks so adorable in his indignation because he still has chocolate smeared all over his face. Regina bites down another laugh as she digs through her purse and unearths a packet of wet wipes, pulls one out and hands it across the table. “Use that to wipe your face, sweetie.”

“You still carry wet wipes around in your bag?” Henry’s voice pipes up. He’s standing at the end of their booth, looking both eager and hesitant as he shifts back and forth, eyes moving from where she sits, to where Robin’s arm is still draped over her shoulders.

“I don’t think I ever stopped,” she says. And she honestly doesn’t think she ever did. Wet wipes, hand sanitiser and band-aids have been permanent residents on her person since signing the papers that said that Henry was _hers_ , that she was his _mom_. He may be twelve and growing up way too fast - especially when she has lost a year with him - but god, it feels like yesterday that she was fighting three year old hands to let her wipe his face free of food.

Henry smiles a bit brighter at that, seems to bounce up and down on his heels for a moment. She glances back at Robin, but he’s giving her that look he’s been perfecting for the last half of the year that says he’ll follow her lead. But then Henry is saying, “C-can I sit with you guys?” before she can tell him to sit down and she knows, she _knows_ he loves her. But having him want to spend time with her now he remembers is everything and it takes all she has to not burst into tears or yank him into a hug she never lets go of.

So she nods instead, squeezes Robin’s thigh in thanks when he rubs soothing circles into her shoulder before taking her hand as her son slides into next to his and beams across at them. “Of course you can, Henry. You don’t ever have to ask.”

“So, it’d be cool if I slept at home tonight?” he asks, and she opens her mouth to tell him not to be so ridiculous, but also so he doesn’t see the way she clenches at Robin’s fingers when he calls their house _home._ “Like, you guys, weren’t wanting to be, um, to have alone time right?” He looks so uncomfortable, cheeks burning red, and she nearly forgets that he knows a little more about the world now.

He’s twelve and has been living in New York for the last year, has been living with a mother who had a boyfriend that more than likely spent the night at least once. He’s a twelve year old boy who has twelve year old friends and he no doubt has some idea about sex. At least in the vaguest sense, and suddenly she is blushing too, because she is not ready to deal with the fact that her little boy is not really so little anymore.

“Well, I - um, they -” Regina stutters a little, floundering on a subject that should not be an issue but shit, she did not see this coming at all, and she’s not been able to prepare for it, and yes, Robin was going to stay tonight. With Roland. But what if that’s not something Henry is comfortable with? Obviously he wouldn’t be staying if Henry didn’t like the idea, but god, how does she even go about that subject? This is unprecedented. Graham was never a relationship. Twisted as it was, as _she_ was, there were boundaries. Even more so once Henry came into the picture - he’s never seen her like this with anyone. Never had to see her with a man, with a _boyfriend_ before.

Boyfriend doesn’t even sound right. It’s too light, too _juvenile_ for what they are, what they have. But there isn’t really another word that works. She refuses to use soulmate in front of anyone but him; she will not become Snow White  - even if they’re on good terms nowadays. But everything else is too heavy for right now.

Regina snaps back to herself when Robin rubs his thumb over her knuckles and cuts off her stuttering. She’s killed for less but she squeezes his thigh in thanks for not letting her sound like a bumbling idiot in front of their children. “Roland and I were going to go back with your mother, yes, but I’m sure you two will want some time together, so we’ll probably go back to the camp.”

“No!” Henry’s fading blush flares up a little when nearby heads turn to look at them for a minute. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just don’t want to interrupt if you had plans is all.”

“Henry, honey you could never interrupt anything.” She finally finds her voice again as she moves the hand on Robin’s leg to grip at Henry’s on the table top. “You are my _son_. You will never be interrupting, okay?” She gives his hand a little shake and raises her eyebrows at him until he grins, shy and chastised, and nods.

“Okay,” he says. “So I can stay at home tonight and we can all hang out, yeah?”

Biting her lip she looks from where Henry is sat leaning forward against the table, to Roland who is watching them all with interest, to Robin who is looking at her, open and waiting for her move. “Yeah, I think we can manage that,” she says when her gazes slips back to Henry who has been watching her the whole time. A quick glance over his shoulder shows Granny and Ruby filling up a table with all different platters of foodstuffs. “Why don’t you two go and get yourselves something to eat, and we can talk a bit more when you’re back?”

Henry nods, slips out of the booth and waits for Roland, helping him down when he slides to the end and her heart skips a little at the way her son holds his hand out for Roland to take before leading him over to the spread of food.

“You alright?” Robin asks again, draws her attention away from staring at the boys.

Zelena was only defeated yesterday. Today had started off easily, she’d woken after only few a hours sleep in Robin’s arms, and wrongfully assumed that it was going to be a comparatively slow day, until the portal was suddenly open and her sister was dead in her cell. She feels shaky, and a little out of sorts from everything yesterday as well as now dealing with mixed feelings about Zelena’s apparent suicide. She could quite happily go back home, curl up and sleep for the next week or so. But she won’t give up this - time with her son who remembers her and a thief who looks at her like she is so much better than she actually is - for anything.

Regina is exhausted, and bruised, and would very much be happy with going home sooner rather than later, but then she looks over to where Emma is helping Henry and Roland to pile food onto paper plates - all three of them laughing. Staying in the diner for a little longer doesn’t seem too terrible, especially with Robin’s body warm against her side and her son happy and playing with his.

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

* * *

Henry runs to the loft before they leave, says he needs to get a few things to show her, and maybe he does - but she is ninety percent sure he was telling Roland about his gameboy and that’s what he went back for. Roland is starting to come down from his sugar high, sitting in the booth next to her while his father has a last drink with his men, slumped against her side and blinking himself awake as she runs her fingers through his curls.

“Are we going home soon?”

She bites her lips, forces down the cheshire cat grin that wants to break out at him calling her house home. “Soon, honey. Henry will be back in a minute, then we can say goodbye to everyone and go to bed, okay?”

Roland sighs, snuggles deeper into her side and throws an arm over her waist. “Okay,” he mumbles.

“Hey.” She’s so focussed on where Roland is slowly but surely drifting off to sleep in her lap that she doesn’t realise Robin is back until he’s crouching down at the edge of the seat and smiling at them. “Looks like all that sugar didn’t do much to keep him up.”

“It’s been a very exciting day for him,” she agrees. “Henry should be back in a moment, then we can get him to bed.”

“What about you? How’re you holding up?”

“Just tired,” she says. She half smiles at him, quirks up the corner of one side of her mouth and forces her eyes to stay open for a little while longer. Robin nods - looks pretty exhausted himself - and moves to slide in beside where his son is partially sprawled over her lap. “It’s been a really long… well, year.”

“So it has,” Robin agrees. He looks like he might say more but then the bell over the door is ringing and Henry is ducking through it with David, backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Hi, are you ready to get home now?” Regina nearly sighs in relief when he nods - she’s about five minutes away from passing out just like Roland.

“Yep, just let me say goodbye to everyone.” Henry dumps his backpack in the opposite side of the booth before darting off to say goodbye to Emma and anyone else who’s held out this long.

“Roland?” Regina rubs at his shoulder, smiles when he grumbles and tries to burrow further into her lap. “Do you want to say goodbye to everyone before we leave?” He whines, scrunches his face in displeasure and curls himself into a tight ball.

Robin smothers a laugh. “Do you want me to move him so you can say your goodbyes as well?” Regina shakes her head, ghost of a smile on her lips as she cards her fingers through Roland’s curls. “Alright, I’m just going to say bye to the men and I’ll be back to free you,” he jokes before he leans forward, busses a kiss across her lips and slides back out to do one last round of goodbyes with his men.

* * *

By the time they get home Regina is dead on her feet. Roland is slumped in Robin’s arms, not even stirring when his father adjusts him in his grip, and she half wishes she could be asleep already too. Henry stopped rambling to them about his time in New York by the time they were about two thirds of the way home too. She can see him using one of the columns on their porch to keep himself propped upright while she digs her keys out, and he may be several feet taller but it’s the same thing he’d do when he was three and had tired himself out at the park. Right down to the way he rubs a hand over his eyes.

Regina forces herself to look away and open the door, she ignores the knowing look Robin gives her as he moves to the stairs - Roland still dead to the world in his arms -  and turns to face her son as he ambles through the doorway. “I know you wanted to spend tonight catching up, but how about we save that for tomorrow instead?”

Henry nods leaning into her side once she’s shut the door, his head dropping onto her shoulder, half-asleep where he stands. “‘Kay,” he mumbles. She wraps her arms around him, resolutely ignoring how he’s that much closer to being taller than her - even in heels - and just breathes for a moment. Basks in the fact that her baby boy is home, remembers her, and isn’t flinching at the sight of her anymore before she’s sighing, rubbing a hand between his shoulder blades to wake him up a little more.

“C’mon, go get ready for bed,” she says as she eases his backpack from his hands and helps him fumble his way out of his coat, the same practised movements she’s been doing since he was three weeks old.

“You’ll come say g’night, right Mom?” Henry asks as he takes his bag back so she can take her own coat off. And it really shouldn’t, but the idea that he wants her to tuck him in - something that before Neverland he had adamantly not wanted since reading the book - makes something in her heart clench and twist. If she speaks she’ll tear up and she doesn’t have the energy right now to try and hide it from him like she normally would, so she settles for nodding with a slightly damp smile that she hopes he’s too tired himself too see.

Regina can hear Robin coaxing Roland into pyjamas in what she has started to come to think as his room when she reaches the top of the stairs. She pushes away the bone-deep tiredness in favour of tucking in her son for the first time in over a year, shoves down the ache until it’s barely on her radar and forces herself move past her room towards Henry’s open door. The second she reaches the doorway she forgets how exhausted she feels, forgets that she has not had a break, not really, in who knows how long, when she sees him clambering into bed. All lanky pre-teen limbs (it still burns to know she missed this, she missed a year of him turning from boy to man) and sleep-clumsy movements as he folds himself into a bed that’s only had her curled up in it since everything with Pan.

“Hey,” she says as she pushes herself from the doorframe to sit on the edge of the mattress. “I’m a little surprised you managed to stay awake long enough to get up here.”

Henry grins up at her as he shifts around to get comfortable. “Wanted to say goodnight properly - like we used to. I’ve missed it.”

Biting the inside of her cheek and fighting back tears (because her son does not need to see how emotional him wanting to say goodnight makes her - she tells herself she can cry later) she brushes back the hair hanging over his forehead. “I’ve missed it too, honey.” He goes to say more but before he can mutter anything a yawn cracks his jaw and she can’t help but laugh a little. “We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?”

“Mmm, okay.” She’s pretty sure he falls asleep mid-sentence, his breathing evening out and deepening, and when she sits there for a few more moments just taking in the fact that he’s even _here,_ at home and in his room with _her_ like when he was tiny and begged for bedtime stories, he doesn’t stir. But when her own tiredness makes itself known again and she leans over to kiss his brow he mumbles a barely audible “love you, Mom,” and she swears her heart stops.

“I love you too, my little prince,” she answers, dropping another kiss to his hair when his lips twitch in a smile before she’s easing herself off of the bed and out of the room.

Robin is sitting on the bed when she gets to her room, stripped down to his undershirt and boxers. “Hey,” he says getting up and slipping one arm around her back while he cups her jaw, thumb stroking back and forth. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to take the couch, or something, what with Henry being home.”

Regina shakes her head, she’s not altogether sure she can handle him sleeping under the same roof, but in a different room. He doesn’t always keep the nightmares away, they’re still more present than not (but she’s so used to them she’s not convinced she’d know how to function without them), but he makes her feel safe when they do. He keeps her calm. She needs that, especially right now. “Henry wouldn’t come in without knocking, he hasn’t since he was six. He knows you’re spending the night, he’s a clever boy - he knows you’re in here with me.”

“Are you sure, love?”

“I don’t want to hide it from him,” she mutters. “Roland is used to seeing us in bed together - Hell, he’s slept in the bed with us more than once. I won’t change that, Henry likes you -  he won’t care. Besides, I kind of like having you around, _thief_ , you might as well get used to it.”

“Oh I’m sure I’ll survive.” Robin grins at her, gives her hip a brief squeeze and nods, satisfied that she’s comfortable, and climbs into her bed while she moves to the closet to change. Even if she were unsure, his offer to sleep else, to make sure both she and her son were comfortable would be enough to convince her asking him to stay was the right move.

The fact that when she slides into bed beside him he automatically fits his front along the curve of her spine just drives that home. For the first time in a very long time, she falls asleep easily. No dread of what’s to come, or inability to drift off, just the warmth of Robin around her, and the knowledge that their children are both under the same roof, safe and sound and sleeping like the dead.

* * *

 

When Regina wakes up a few hours later she’s disorientated, and somehow more exhausted than when she climbed into bed. It takes her a moment to realise why she’s even woken in the first place, before she realises her leg is starting to twitch.

Robin is still blessedly asleep, though he won’t be for long if she doesn’t get herself out of the bed. It’s slow building, but it _is_ building - Regina can feel the tell tale tingles spreading. Gritting her teeth she eases out from under the arm Robin has thrown over her waist, moves herself inch-by-inch to the edge of the bed, sits there for a moment, gripping the edge of the mattress with white knuckles, eyes on the chaise in the corner of her room. It’s not really far at all, but her right side is spasming now as opposed to just her leg, and all seven feet of the distance looks like a fucking mile.

She gets her feet to hold her weight for all of three seconds before her left leg joins the party. The hand she shoots out to grab onto the nightstand slips, catches on the alarm clock lead and sends it, along with a jar of hand cream and the book she hasn’t touched since coming back from Neverland, tumbling to the floor with her. Part of her wants to scream, the other part grits her teeth and glares down at where her hands are barely keeping her upper body from hitting the floor as well.

She’s not even aware of Robin waking up, of him slipping from the bed and to the carpet next to her until her shaking arms aren’t holding her weight anymore. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs as he helps her lean into him rather than her straining wrists. “I’ve got you, Regina.” He turns her gently, mindful of her twitching limbs. As soon as he’s helped her sit a little - braced against his side with her legs out infront of her instead of tangled underneath - she tucks her head into the crook of his neck. Only half aware of the way his skin becomes damp when she does - sweat and tears alike - Regina lets herself fold down into him.

Sighing, she screws her eyes shut, until they start to ache and even then she refuses to relax. Just buries her brow a little deeper into Robin and bites at the insides of her cheeks, something Mother was always sure to punish her for when she was younger. But all Robin does is press a firm kiss to her brow, one hand keeping a steady up-down-up-down rhythm on her vibrating spine, while the other cups the back of her head and combs through the sweat-damp and probably matted locks here.

He always sees her weak.

He always sees her weak, and yet he looks at her like she’s strong. Like she’s carved from marble - he spent the entirety of the last year, when they weren’t with his boy, telling her she would figure it out. That he believed in her, had faith… in _her._ He’s still holding her like she is made of spun sugar, but he makes her feel like maybe she could be strong. Like maybe it’s okay if he sees her weaker moments, because it’s so _nice_ to have someone there to help hand her all the broken, tiny pieces of herself.

“Mom?”

Regina’s heart stops for a moment. It stutters, and skips, and picks back up double time all by the time he’s knocked softly on her door and eased it open.

“Mom? A-are you okay?”

 _No. No, no, no, no… This isn’t real. This cannot be real._ Her seizure has only just started to calm down; she’s still aware of most of her body trembling in Robin’s hold. It’s bad enough that he’s seen her like this so many times since they met, it’s bad enough that _his_ son has seen her mid-episode. Regina can’t handle the thought of her little boy seeing her like this.

“W-what?” Henry trips over his words, she can tell he doesn’t come any closer from where he must have first spotted them all crumpled up amongst the items on her nightstand. “What’s wrong with her?”

Her breathing races alongside her heartbeat and tremors that she’s gradually become used to in the last however long she’s had them, seem almost magnified in light of her son being in the room. She never wanted him to have to see this.

“She’s alright,” Robin’s voice is calm, quiet in the early hour but still firm when it becomes apparent that Regina won’t - can’t answer. “Hey, Henry? I promise you she will be okay.”

“But…”

“I give you my word,” he sounds so certain that she even finds herself believing him for second. There’s no way he can know that, know way either of them can, her health issues have their own issues at this point and she nevers knows when the next attack is coming until moments before. But it works, Robin’s confident, soft words calm her son down, they calm _her_ down long enough to remember that she’s a parent. She needs to protect him, even from this - especially from this.

Blinking her eyes open and angling her forehead to see where Henry hovers awkwardly by her dresser, looking so unsure of what to do. Regina forces a smile, a thin, barely there ghost of a thing, and forces her jaw to cooperate enough to assure him with a whispered, “I-I’m okay, baby, really.”

When he still looks uncertain - he can’t take his eyes off her left arm; it’s the most visible not being tucked against Robin’s chest as it twitches and jerks - Robin clears his throat. “You know what would help, Henry?”

“What?” He straightens, eager to do something to help, just like he always was when he was little, before he found out about the adoption and always wanted to know if he could _help Mommy, I’m a big boy now!_

“Could you go and get your mum some water?” Robin’s barely finished before Henry is nodding and darting from the room, though thankfully, while she can hear his frantic pace she doesn’t hear the usual tell-tale thudding that means he’s running up and down the staircase.  When his footfalls are a safe distance away Robin sighs and pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at her. “Alright, we’ve got him half convinced that you’re going to be okay - now you need to convince me.”

Forcing out a laugh Regina leans her head back against his shoulder to make it easier to meet his worried eyes. “I’ll be fine - always am.” Her voice is still hardly more than a whisper but the tremors aren’t jarring the words together in her mouth anymore. “It’s nearly over.”

Robin just smiles at her, soft and concerned as he reaches up to brush the hair that’s stuck to her sweaty forehead off of her face. “We both know that isn’t what I was referring to, lovely.” He doesn’t say anything else. Just shifts a little when her body starts to relax, only jerking in her hands and one of her calves now, and gets her back into the bed before righting everything on her nightstand as Henry’s hurried footsteps reach their earshot.

It takes them sometime to get Henry to agree to go back to bed. Robin offers to go sleep in the guest room with Roland at one point, to let Henry stay in here with her but her son shakes his head, mumbles something about Robin knowing how to help more (the frown on his face makes her stomach churn). She pulls him into a hug if just so she doesn’t start crying all over again, brushes a kiss over his hairline and promises up and down that is okay, that the water really does help, and that _yes, honey, nothing else will happen tonight - you can go back to bed._

Henry doesn’t look happy about it, not completely, but then he yawns so hard she hears his jaw click.

“Sweetheart, please try and get some sleep, for me?”

It’s a low blow, and if Henry’s narrowed eyes are anything to go by he thinks so too, but then it all seems to hit him and he’s blinking at her all bleary eyed and after another gentle suggestion that he get some rest, he nods and ambles away from the bed before stopping in the doorway, hand on the knob. “Mom?”

“Yes, Henry?”

“This isn’t a new thing… is it?” he asks. “What-whatever happened tonight isn’t something that’s only just started is it?”

She promised she wouldn’t lie to him, swore to herself after waking up somehow alive, if not all together good-as-new, from the Cannery that she would never lie to him again. Not even for the little things that’s all parents tell their kids to help them sleep at night. She promised him that she’d never lie to him again, but _fuck_ does she wish she could come up with something half believable right now.

“No,” she says instead, taking comfort in the hand Robin still has working over the contours of her spine, letting herself lean on him for more than just physical necessity. “No, it’s not something new.”


End file.
